


The Teacher and I

by xxsoswagxx



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Dead Carla Yeager, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Implied/Referenced Suicide, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Past Armin Arlert/Eren Yeager, Self-Harm, Sexual Content, Slow Burn, Underage - Freeform, student!eren, teacher!levi
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-06-20
Updated: 2018-08-18
Packaged: 2019-05-25 18:02:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 7
Words: 22,831
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14982602
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/xxsoswagxx/pseuds/xxsoswagxx
Summary: early update for sure ! a couple of things-i wanted this chapter to be longer, but it felt right ending it where i did.i died writing sasha's haiku, i think i'm in love with her.i did write a pun into the chapter near the end. it was accidental, i promise.i tried to make this chapter a little more light-hearted, though it ended dark. thank you guys for reading and i adore all your feedback !





	1. Mr. Ackerman

Mr. Ackerman was always my favorite teacher. He wore only freshly pressed slacks and button ups, well-coordinated with his casual Italian loafers. There was an aura of mystery surrounding him. His neatly groomed undercut and authentic gold wrist watches told me that he had come from, and seemed to belong, anywhere but Shinganshina High School. Mr. Ackerman wasn't like the other faculty members. It wasn't just because he taught only creative writing courses. It was because he had impeccable posture and high self-esteem. It was because while every other classroom within the two-building complex seemed to be dirty, messy, or literally crumbling down, his was always pristine and well-decorated. My classmates agreed that the tough ass teacher was probably the only over-qualified person the school had ever hired. 

The day I really met Mr. Ackerman was the day that changed my life forever. See--the thing is, we all think we know people that we don't ever know. We think that because we'e interacted with somebody every day for a couple months, we're aware of who they are as fundamental beings, but that isn't the case at all. I thought my creative writing teacher was a 28-year-old ex-gangster who simply had a fondness for helping adolescents. Was I right? Well, yeah, but that doesn't mean I knew he liked his coffee with two sugars, or that his favorite color is light orange, or that he keeps two cats at home that he treats like his children. 

The day I first met Mr. Ackerman I exited the dingy hallway and entered his bright classroom, and let out a sigh of relief. It seemed like his room granted me asylum from all the stresses high school otherwise provided me with. My fellow classmates continued streaming through the doorway as I shuffled into my seat, a small desk beside a back wall of windows. I turned to watch the rain outside patter lightly against the windows. I liked rain in a regretful sort of sense. I used to love it, love thunderstorms for the rush negative ions in the air provided me; like I was feeling alive for the first time in a long time. But sitting in that desk watching the rain fall silently gave me a bittersweet feeling. It brought me back to different times, sadder times, when I felt so alone I could just die. 

I jolted back to reality when the school bell rang to signal the start of class. Mr. Ackerman sat up in his chair, hands automatically moving to smooth down his charcoal-gray slacks as he stood up. He'd worn a light blue shirt to match, and had selected a rose-gold watch to adorn his wrist rather than his typical casual gold shade. "It's miserable outside, so I though I'd give you brats an assignment to match the atmosphere." Mr. Ackerman said, picking up a small stack of papers from his desk. I bit my lip as a twinge of anxiety ran through me. I'd thoroughly enjoyed all of his daily prompts so far. This was probably due in part to me keeping what I wrote light. I knew this was a creative writing class and that we were all encouraged to 'openly share our feelings', or whatever, but to a degree even arts classes had their limits on what was socially acceptable. I was good at writing romance and fantasy and adventure. But what nobody in the class--especially Mr. Ackerman--knew was that I was exceptional at detailing my autobiographical misery. 

Mr. Ackerman dropped a slip of paper onto my desk at last. I looked down at the piece in my hands, eager to read it and hopeful that it was happy. My hopes were soon dashed when I finally made sense of what he was asking. 

//Describe an emotion you felt strongly this time last year. The emotion can be anything as long as you describe how that emotion drove you in one scenario or how it impacted your life more broadly.//

"I'm going to give you fifteen minutes for this prompt. I want you brats to elaborate on one emotion that overtook your life this time last year. Maybe your dog died, so you were feeling... shit, you were feeling distraught. Maybe you won the lottery and were feeling ecstatic. Whatever you choose, I don't care, just tell me how the hell it changed the course of your life." Mr. Ackerman sauntered back in the direction of his desk, plopping down in his seat at the same moment he cursed us all with the instruction, "begin".

After opening my notebook I took a moment to stare at the lined paper. For a second I felt like I couldn't breathe, like the world was turning in on me once again. Maybe it was okay, just the once, to share my actual, real feelings, I told myself. I glanced up at Mr. Ackerman. I knew without a doubt that if I could trust one person with my past it was him. With this in mind I started to write.  
\---

Prompt. Eren Jaeger. Despair. 

When I was sixteen I tried to kill myself. 

It started with my friend, Jean, accidentally telling some kids he knew that I like guys. At first it was okay, nothing changed, but then everything changed and overnight everyone around me looked at me differently. I wasn't Eren Jaeger anymore. I was a homo to be avoided in the locker room, a punching bag for some, and a "gay best friend" for others. 

Once, some kids from the soccer team followed me home. I was so scared, walking home alone at night, that I bit into my thumb to keep myself silent. This simple act gave me a taste of my own blood... and disgustingly enough, I liked the pain I discovered. Soon, every snide comment in the hall or undeserved dirty look drove me deeper. Biting into my thumb turned into a scrambling of cuts around my hipbones, and then my thighs, and finally on my wrists.

This time last year I got into an argument with my older sister, Mikasa, that was so bad I decided I was done. I wanted to be done with school, with being gay, with being alive. "It's time," I thought. Mikasa had seen some of the cuts on my wrist and threatened to tell our father, Grisha, who I knew would only force me into therapy or an institution if he found out. I'd cried and promised her I'd tell Grisha and "get myself help". That night after she'd fallen asleep I took a bottle of Tylenol from the medicine cabinet and a knife from a kitchen drawer and I drove myself out to the cliffs at the park just outside of town. It was dark, and I was crying, and I felt so alone. But I felt like I had to do the awful thing. I parked my car under some trees and walked to the edge of the cliffs, where the chain-link fence is, and walked around the fence. First I took all the pills. I was going to cut my wrists, but sitting there, looking over the trees and the ravine below, I realized it would kill my sister if she knew I ended my life with something she hated so much. I didn't think about how fucked up it was that I was there at all. Didn't care about how much I meant to her. I swallowed the pills dry. I waited. 

Despair drove me to the edge of those cliffs. It pushed me to end my life rather than continue it. That one emotion changed my life forever in ways I'm sure you'll find clear to see.

\---  
"Time's up!" Mr. Ackerman called. Shakily I looked down at the paper in front of me. I could feel the blood run out of my face and seemingly my body as I took in the fact that I had actually written out my suicide attempt. That I had no alternative now but to turn in something that could damn me to therapy and a fucking mental hospital and all the horrible things I had worked so hard to stay out of. I grabbed my head in my hands so that I wouldn't collapse atop my desk. 

"Fuck," I whispered. 

"What's that?" Mr Ackerman asked. Surprised to hear him so close by, I looked up to see my teacher right beside me. He was smirking down at me. 

"Nothing," I replied, but absolutely everything was wrong. 

"Care to hand that paper to me?" he sassed. 

"Uh, not really." I crossed my arms, laying them out over the notebook paper as if to veil them from Mr. Ackerman's sight altogether. If he read what I'd just written, he wouldn't understand that I was in a different place now, that while I certainly wasn't perfect I was most definitely in a healthier state of mind. 

"Excuse me?" he inquired, his eyebrows pushing together as he reached a hand up to run softly through his undercut. Anxious, probably. "Look, you don't want a zero on this assignment. Just turn it in." I glanced around the room at his words, noticing for the first time that the entire room was watching our conversation. Begrudgingly I grabbed the paper off my desktop and handed it to him. "Perfect." He snapped, rolling his eyes as he walked away. 

I couldn't concentrate on the remainder of the period at all. I was trying, I really was, but my mind and attention kept drifting back to the stack of papers on Mr. Ackerman's desk. Maybe, if he was distracted when the bell rang, I could just steal it back, I reasoned with myself. The idea wasn't a horrible one. It might even be reasonable. 

I nodded my way through the remainder of class, putting a base amount of effort into looking aware of my surroundings. Our next project was something to do with poetry I knew, and I was quick to file away the assignment into my folder so as to not lose it later. This was the one class I enjoyed receiving assignments from.

Finally, the bell rang, and I realized my plan had an actual future when I saw the cuck Connie, hopeful future valedictorian, rushing up to Mr. Ackerman to get advice on that night's assignment. I almost smiled with relief as I got up slowly from my seat, patiently gathering together the class's materials. When I'd finished stacking my notebooks and folders I began edging my way over to Mr. Ackerman's desk. Connie was still chatting on about the diction of rhythmic poetry, and Mr. Ackerman's back was still turned to me when I finally became within arm's distance of the papers. I reached forwards to grasp them--

And felt something brush up behind me. "Wah!" I shouted, pinwheeling my arms out in utter surprise. Strong hands grabbed my waist and steadied me. I looked over my shoulder to see Connie holding a hand over his mouth in shock. He was standing alone. I let out a sigh of disappointment. 

"Connie, leave us please." Mr. Ackerman commanded. I watched Connie scurry out of the room with speed unknown to his character. 

Mr. Ackerman's hands left my waist, and for a blip I thought I almost felt disappointment over the loss of contact. Awkwardly I took a couple steps away from Mr. Ackerman and his desk. 

"It appears you really don't want me reading what you wrote. Am I wrong?" Mr. Ackerman inquired. 

"You're uh... you're right." I looked up from my shaking hands, and made eye contact with Mr. Ackerman. His gray eyes seemed honest. I believed he genuinely cared abut me, about how I felt about my own work. 

"How about this. You wrote what you did for a reason, even if you don't think so, brat. Will it help if I read your assignment in front of you?" I stared at him suspiciously. "And you can explain anything you want to after." He continued slowly. 

It appeared the paper was getting read no matter what. I bit my lip. I shrugged. "No offense, but you're not giving me much of a choice here. If you won't let me take the paper back, I guess, but I'm... I'm just not comfortable with this." I admitted. 

Mr. Ackerman nodded thoughtfully. "I'll notify your next instructor that you're staying with me to finish an assignment. I have a prep period this block, so you don't have to worry about anybody watching you watching me. Do you like coffee?" 

"Yeah, black, though." He quirked a brow at me. "All that other stuff pollutes the taste. As long as it's good coffee, of course, but if it's a shit blend you'd better provide some creamer." I blushed a little at the curse that had left my lips. I wasn't used to cussing in front of teachers, not without getting detentions.

"Don't worry, brat, I only do smooth blends." It was weird, talking to a guy eleven years my senior about coffee blends of all things. But if felt comfortable, and I quickly settled into the room. "And Eren, relax. I'm not going to stealth read it behind your back. Please quit fidgeting for one fucking minute." Mr. Ackerman prompted. I bristled a bit at him comment before seating myself on the nearest desktop. I watched him add two bottled waters to the coffeepot, scoop coffee grounds into a filter, and start the machine. 

"I did it make it extra strong, so I hope you keep to you word," Mr. Ackerman warned. I shook my head as he settled into his desk. He picked up my paper. I could tell the exact moment he took in the title, as his shoulders stiffened in the least and his eyebrows squinted down. His habits were predictable by this point, and it was then that I decided to find out the rest of his little quirks. Sitting down in Mr. Ackerman's room, the smell of freshly brewing coffee surrounding me, sent a soft thrill up my spine. There was something about the short man that made me feel, feel something that I hadn't before know and was so far unable to identify. 

Nervously I awaited his reaction and the onset of my future.


	2. Cliff Edge

When I wrote that assignment for Mr. Ackerman's class, I couldn't fully encompass my past in the paper. It's impossible for anybody to sum up the worst time of their life in fifteen minutes. And for me? I couldn't describe all the feelings and heartache I wrought upon myself and those closest to me. So here it is--

I'll explain to you the night I drove to the cliffs. The night I wanted to end my life. 

That day I had slept in later than usual. It was a Sunday morning nearing the end of the first semester. Grisha usually liked Mikasa and I to be awake early on Sunday mornings so that we could go to church as a family, and attend brunch afterward. It was the one day of the week we all spent together. Not that Mikasa and I complained very much. Grisha was a rough parent. He was quick to scold, and held few reservations on punishments. When I was younger he would smack me at the slightest mistake, and I'd been quick to learn that following orders and being quiet got me further in the Jaeger household than being myself ever could. 

That particular Sunday I woke up sticky in sweat after a sleepless November night. The first thing I did was look to my alarm clock. It was 9:06; church started at 9:30 on the dot. Mikasa was always sure to wake me up by 8:30 so that I could be dressed and ready to leave by 9:15 exact. Surprised by the late time, I grabbed a half-clean shirt off the foot of my bed and slipped it on, not bothering to check its sleeve length in my morning grog.

"Mikasa?" I called as I opened the door to the hallway. My room was next door to hers, and our hallway was just off the living room. 

"In here," she replied, and I followed her voice into the living room. She was cuddled up in a swarm of blankets, drinking something out of a mug while the TV played. I paused to watch her. She had her hair pulled back, but a few strands of it curled around to frame her face. God, I wanted to walk up to her and cuddle against her side like we used to when we were kids, but we'd been so distant lately and I didn't know how to bridge the invisible gap that existed between us now. Standing there I saw how wide it really was. I reflected on it, thought about how it was probably my fault. It was probably my own self-seclusion and destruction that drove her away. I wanted to tell her how much I missed her. 

"Where's Grisha?" I asked instead.

Her face wrinkled up in annoyance. "Some call from the hospital. He hates working Sundays, you know, but the hospital said it was urgent." I nodded. It sounded reasonable and well, typical. "Join me?" she asked, bringing an arm out from under the blankets to pat the space next to her. 

"Uh-" I began. I wasn't good at the conversations she wanted to have. She was always so considerate, too considerate, (nosy,) and I never felt like I could return all the energy she sent my way. 

"C'mon, Eren, we never see each other." she whined. I winced at her accusation. Is it even an accusation if it's true? I made my way to the brown leather sectional and settled down a good foot or so away from her. "Jesus. I'm not infectious," she joked, tugging my arm to move me closer to her and pour the blankets over me as well. 

"Thanks," I said, finally relaxing my posture enough to get comfortable. "What're we watching?"

"I dunno, some cheap horror movie on Netflix."

"It's a Sunday morning and you're watching this?"

She shook her head, hiding a smile. "What can I say, I like what I like."

The next hour or so was well-spent. For the first time in a while I bonded with Mikasa. The movie was background as we chatted about school and classes, and shit-talked all the people we couldn't stand at school. Things took a turn for the worst when she stopped to look at me. Really look. 

"Eren, how've you been? I know I worry too much. Or you and Armin tell me that. But I think I should be worried about you."

"I'm fine, Mikasa." I lied, giving her the most genuine smile I could muster. 

"Because I love you, Eren, and-" at this I began to back away from her, pulling some of the along blankets with me. "Hey, don't go-" she tried, grasping at the blankets as I struggled to leave before finally grabbing hold of my wrist. The moment she made contact with my skin I winced, the area burning from the irritation. 

"What was that?" she asked, her voice high-pitched and panicky. 

"Nothing!" I shouted, using all the strength I had to get away from her, but Mikasa had always been stronger than me. "Get away from me!"

"No, what the fuck, Eren? Why won't you just tell me what's wrong?" she pushed forwards, and suddenly she was far too close to me. 

"You're hurting me!" I cried.

Mikasa loosened her grip, but gave me a look so sharp I allowed her to continue holding my arm. I watched with a deep sense of nervous shame and guilt as she leaned down to inspect the red lines drawn across the inside of my forearm. The cuts were all light, all in various stages of healing. Most I was confident would fade away entirely within a year or two, but a couple I knew would stay with me well into adulthood. Those few reminded me to keep the rest light; to not inflict too much pain. 

"How long have you been doing this?" she asked at last, her voice sullenly quiet. 

"I don't know," I answered uncomfortably. "A couple months is all."

"Don't lie to me anymore." she warned. I let my head droop down with the weight of the guilt I felt. I didn't want Mikasa to have the look in her eyes she did then. I didn't want her to feel like this was all her fault, because it wasn't, I just had bad ways of coping. That was all. 

"A year or so... It's just gotten a little worse lately."

"Is this because of you coming out?"

"I don't know, Mikasa!"

"How can you not know?" she said, running the pads of her fingertips lightly over some of the older cuts. A shiver raced up my arm as if in warning.

"Maybe because I have a fucked up father, and a dead mother, and because half my friends left when they realized I'm fucking gay!" I cried. "And I can't change any of that, and I just-" I heaved, and my lungs sucking for air emptily hiccuped instead. "I just feel so alone." I admitted. 

"I'm right here," Mikasa assured me, desperate to console me. "I want to help you!"

"It's so messed up, I don't think you get it. My thoughts are a mess. I want to be happy, I do, but I honestly don't know if I'm fixable."

"You are. You're fine, Eren, we can get you help together-" she offered. I stared up abruptly, making true eye contact with her for the first time since the start of the conversation. And in her eyes I saw clear desperation. She was ready to do anything and turn to anyone to put me back together again.

"Listen to me. I'll stop cutting, I promise, but I'm not going to 'see' anyone. I'm not." I said, voice strong. I was serious in my words. There was no way in hell I'd be going to see some shrink who would only over-analyze my daddy issues and blame all my problems on internalized homophobia. Armin had gone to see one once-upon-a-time ago, and it had really fucked him up. I knew sharing my feelings would only dig me in deeper. Take my problems from being abstract things floating around in my life to concrete issues I had to face up to. And exchanging fantasy for reality? That would actually kill me. 

"No, you need to tell Grisha about this."

"Mikasa-" I interrupted. 

"If you don't, I will. I can't watch you do this to yourself. Not on my conscious." she said, giving me the deep frown she only wore when she was thinking of the night her parents died, of the night we killed two robbers. My sister's conscious wasn't about just me, I only happened to be included in her quest of right and wrong.

"I get what you're trying to do here, but you know that Grisha would sooner kick my ass than actually help me." At this Mikasa went silent. 

"That's not," she began, before stopping. She slowly moved both of my arms near to her as though she were cradling them. "As long as this stops. Any time you want to do this, you call me or you pull me out of my room. You have to promise me."

"I promise." I said. In the back of my mind I was panicking, because she knew, someone had seen what I'd done to myself and that made everything worse somehow. There now would always remain the possibility that Mikasa would blurt it out to someone, maybe Grisha or Armin or someone who wouldn't hesitate to inform the school. I wanted to be alone for a while. 

"Ok. Stay with me today?" she asked, her eyes still watering from the conversation. 

"Yeah." I said, moving forward to give her a hug after she finally released my arms from her grip. I fought the urge to rub them, to cleanse them of the feeling of being touched and acknowledged. 

And stay I did. That day Mikasa was careful to never let her eyes leave me. For lunch, she insisted on driving us out for burgers and ice cream. I tried pointing out that I was always the one who drove us places but my idea was shot down fast. I don't even think either of us like burgers. It just seemed like the thing to do in the situation. In the afternoon Mikasa dragged me out of the house again to go to a matinee downtown in the old movie theater, the one where I had my first date without Mikasa or Grisha knowing. 

The rooms of the theater smelled like fresh popcorn with an undertone of definite mold. Mikasa insisted we sit up close to the screen. 

"You hate sitting up front!" I argued. 

"I know, but you like it, don't you? It 'makes you feel alive'. You mentioned it once." she explained. 

"Thanks," I said simply, because Mikasa had remembered something about myself that I'd forgotten. And she was right. The cheesy kids movie we'd paid to see was absolutely amazing close-up, and every time the screen gave an aerial shot it felt like we were actually flying. 

"Fuck!" I'd exclaimed after the movie finished. 

"Eren! There's kids here!" Mikasa hushed, laughter spilling out her lips despite her admonishing. 

"I don't care, that movie was so good!" I replied, and Mikasa only shook her head and continued to laugh at me. We left the theater only after all the credits had rolled, even though we knew there wasn't an Easter Egg at the end. I had the feeling that neither of us wanted to leave that moment and step out into the real world again. 

When we got home, Mikasa made some kind of Thai dish (very good, very spicy). Afterward we went our separate ways to do homework. She had trigonometry and some kind of law assignment, whereas I had a sketch to complete for my art class. 

"Well, goodnight." Mikasa had said at the crux between the doors to our bedrooms. "If you need anything... don't hesitate."

Alone in my room things changed in my head again. I wasn't doing my assignment for the grade, I was doing it for myself. I didn't think I'd be around the next day to turn it in but I wanted it finished. Wanted all the loose ends of my life tied up. For some reason that day felt like an ending day when it should've felt like a beginning one. It felt like the best last day of my life I could've asked for. 

I didn't think about why Mikasa had trusted me alone. She trusted me because I'd been serious when I'd promised her to stop harming myself. I had been committed when I'd told her I'd stop--but here, alone in my bedroom with only the light of my desk lamp, I couldn't stop picturing how it would feel to end my life. By jumping off a building or swimming into a frozen lake or taking too much of a medication. 

My mind had been like that for some months. It was exhausting, constantly running over scenarios. Which death scene best fit me? Did I worry about writing a will or trust that Grisha would give everything of mine to Mikasa and Armin anyway?

And that night felt like the end, like the best possible night to kill myself. I turned to my closet to rummage around for a spare backpack, so that if Mikasa or Grisha were to see me leaving I could claim I was sneaking off to Armin's. Armin. I was sure he'd understand after Mikasa would explain to him; I was sure he'd know I loved him but that I felt I had to go. 

I changed into a light t-shirt and my favorite jeans. Upon leaving my room I decided to grab the family photo album I kept in my bookshelf. It wouldn't do any harm to look back at all the good times, I decided. 

Once out of my room I was careful to step quietly through the halls and into the kitchen. It appeared Grisha had gotten home at some point, evidence of his arrival being dirty dishes and a half-eaten microwavable meal Mikasa and I would be expected to clean up--well, I could for her. I laid my backpack down on the kitchen island while I sorted the dirty dishes into the dishwasher and threw away the half-eaten meal and its plastic wrappings. Quickly, I grabbed the first knife I saw in the drawer and a bottle of Tylenol from the cupboard. I slipped them into my backpack and took my car keys from their hook on the wall. This was it. 

I took a deep breath leaving the house. I couldn't help but feel a giddy, nervous relief. This was all going to be done soon. It would all finally be finished. 

I hopped into my car for what I believed to be the last time and started driving. I had the vague idea of going to a park on the edge of town, one with plenty of trees and a couple of trails that led to a scenic overlook. There was a chain-link fence preventing people from getting too close to the edge of the overlook and thus falling into a ravine far below, but the fence was easy to get around. And the cliffs would be a good backup. 

The drive to the park was quick and almost emotionless. It was like I was driving to school, or to pick up Mikasa from somewhere. I reached the area I'd chosen and parked my car under some trees, where it was hidden in the nighttime from any police that might patrol. I took my backpack with me as I walked to the fence. The moon was hidden that night, and everything seemed darker than I remembered. It was eerie to be there late and alone. 

I crouched through one of the larger openings of the fence rather than walk the full way around it, and I seated myself on the good two to three feet ledge of grass that petered between the fence and the air. Between life and death. 

I sat there, just sat there, apathetic and immovable for a good hour or so. I thought about how fucked up this was. I knew I should be feeling guilty, knew I should be looking for a way out of this, but I wasn't. At the end of the hour I took to just think I felt the same way. 

I took out the bottle of Tylenol and swallowed the pills in a succession of three handfuls; I'd forgotten to bring water to swallow them down with and the bottle was a new one. Next I brought out the kitchen knife. I had it angled and ready to slice open my veins in an up-to-down motion rather than the left-to-right I used too often, I had it in my hands I had my life in my hands--

And I thought of Mikasa's eyes earlier, thought of the tears threatening to flow over. I knew if Mikasa had to see me with more cuts it would kill her more than my death alone could ever. Hesitantly I put down the knife. And I waited. 

I'd read online that within a couple hours my organs should start failing. Extreme physical pain was obviously one of the symptoms. So I waited. Was the cramp in my side a sign? Was the itch at my ankle a signal? I don't know how long I sat there, waiting in the dark for a death that never came. It was two or three hours in when I got upset enough that I chucked the empty bottle of Tylenol off the cliff face and watched it sail downwards until it disappeared in the inky darkness of the night. 

I just wanted it over with and it was like I just couldn't die. I'd always healed quicker than the other kids on the playground, sure, but this was fucking ridiculous. The sun was rising up in the sky; it'd been at least 7 hours and still I hadn't felt the slightest twinge of death. The only physical sign of distress was the headache I'd developed from sleep deprivation. 

I couldn't even kill myself right, I thought. I stoop up and stretched, taking in the morning sunrise. It wasn't aesthetically pleasing to me. It was beautiful, but an ugly kind of beautiful. It was a reminder that I was still there, still alive, that in the end I was man enough to take a bottle of pills but too pussy to jump. The cliff was right in front of me, just a skip or a hop or a wind-gust-too-hard away, and still I couldn't bring myself to do it. 

Instead I walked back to my car as calmly as I had walked away from it the night before. I unlocked it, sat inside, buckled my seat belt, and drove back to my house in utter silence. Driving so early in the morning gave me the opportunity to watch the town wake up, watch the small businesses open and the cars begin pouring onto the streets. 

The first thing I did at home was walk into Mikasa's room. It was early enough that she was still asleep. I could see the small frame of body move up and down as she breathed peacefully. I didn't think before sitting down beside her. It was only until she woke up, I told myself, but soon I fell into a bleak sleep beside her. She didn't bother waking me for school that morning. 

I never asked her why she let me sleep. I always assumed she knew, deep down, what I'd tried to do that night as well as the part of myself I struggled so hard to tame. I didn't want my life to end. I just wanted to kill the bits of myself and my mind that I hated. I think she got that, think she saw how Grisha had touched me and carved out pieces of himself within me that weren't meant to be there. 

Even though she wasn't with me on the cliff face that night, she'd been the one to take the knife from my hands. She saved my life and gave me a new beginning.

This is what I couldn't fit into a fifteen-minute writing assignment. This is what I couldn't scribe in a way Mr. Ackerman would understand, but what I hoped he would reach for anyway.


	3. Horse Face

Mr. Ackerman pushed the paper back after he finished reading. I stirred my coffee nervously even though I hadn't added anything to the drink.

"Eren?" he asked. 

"Yes, sir?" I replied. Grisha always demanded I call him 'sir' rather than 'dad', and reverting to over-politeness wasn't unknown to me. 

"Don't call me sir, it's Mr. Ackerman or just Ackerman, brat." Mr. Ackerman said, rolling his eyes after he finished speaking. "Anyway. Have you been feeling this way lately?"

I took a tentative sip of coffee. "No. Things are different now." Mr. Ackerman's shoulders relaxed with my words. 

"That's good. I liked what you wrote. It was brave, something I don't believe most kids your age would be comfortable putting into the world." he said. His compliment made my cheeks warm, and I hoped he wouldn't take notice. "Why did you write it?" he asked. 

I studied the tiled floor, how it was red and white and then red again. "It's something that I live with," I said, deciding this was the best way to formulate my thoughts. "But it's something nobody knows. It's exhausting having to be two different people. Around Mikasa, my sister, and my best friend Armin, I'm an eager dumbass. I dunno... I feel like I'm always holding back so much. They don't get that I'm smart and that I have feelings other than being happy. It's..." I trailed off. 

"It's exhausting." Mr. Ackerman finished. We made eye contact, and again his gray eyes drew me in and gave me the feeling that he was honest, probably one of the most honest people I'd ever met. I gave a silent nod as reply. "It makes you want to cut yourself off, it makes you feel guilty for being human."

"They care so much for the person they think you are. And it's like your life comes to revolve around living up to other peoples' expectations. I'm seventeen, I'm not claiming to know who the fuck I am, all I know is that I'm not this perfect kid in this perfect slot."

"People like to categorize things, Eren. Absolutism gives us comfort."

I shook my head. "It's fucked up." I said.

"Agreed," Mr. Ackerman said, picking up his own mug of coffee. "As much as I've enjoyed our conversation, I can't help but be concerned as your teacher." he explained, turning to me with hooded eyes. He pushed a hand up through his undercut as if in annoyance. "So, look. I don't believe you to be a threat to yourself or anybody else. I'm going to give you my phone number." 

Mr. Ackerman opened a drawer of his desk to retrieve some pencil and paper. "You have my school email, but I feel you may be more inclined to contact me, should the need arise, if you have my cell phone number." he scribbled down the seven-digit number before standing up to hand me the post-it note. It was orange with decorative flowers in the corner. I reached out to take it from him and our fingers brushed for a second. I was quick to slip the paper into my pocket. 

"The expectation is that you'll text or call me if you're feeling depressed. Or if you have an anxiety attack, etc." he said, giving a slight wave of hand at 'etc'. At this he stopped, pausing to look up at me. "Eren, I'm serious when I tell you this, you're a great kid. I care about you and I'm glad you felt you could come to me with this. I'm glad you're here." I tried desperately to ignore how my heart felt in that moment, as though it were being gravely mishandled or squeezed too tightly. Mr. Ackerman knew what I'd wanted to hear, no, what I'd needed to hear desperately. 

"Thank you," I said honestly. 

Mr. Ackerman wrote me a pass to my next class, Psychology ironically enough, in addition to sending an email to the teacher. He waved me out of the room with a newly topped Styrofoam cup of coffee in hand. 

"I look forward to seeing what you come up with for next class," Mr. Ackerman said as I left. I smiled on the outside and cringed a little on the inside. I'd already forgotten all about that night's homework. 

\- - -

I couldn't help but wonder why the fuck Connie had been asking about rhythmic poetry in relation to haikus. The homework had nothing to do with that--

//Write 5 haikus. Make them interesting, you'll be reading them aloud next class.// I could practically hear Mr. Ackerman's voice through his words. Even though the word 'brat' wasn't implicitly stated in the passage, it was most definitely implied. I smiled to myself at the thought of his bitching, at how his eyebrows would scrunch together and his eyes droop in sleepy annoyance. 

Fuck, I was daydreaming again. I rolled my shoulders and leaned back in my chair. I was seated at the desk in my bedroom. After last year's events I'd started turning on all the lights in my bedroom rather than just the lamp, as well as opening the windows for light and fresh air. I looked around my room absent-mindedly, taking in the golden glow that the sunset outside was reflecting. 

For the first time in a long time I thought back to when Mikasa and I had a family with Mom and Dad, not just with Grisha. Before Mom--Carla--was taken away from us, we'd come home to freshly baked cookies and pies and when we were lucky homemade lemonade. Back then Mikasa and I ran around the house raising hell. Sometimes we'd play castle under the dining room table, but my favorite game was superheroes. I was always Superman and she was Catwoman or Supergirl. We'd defend our homeland from any evil villains, and save each other too, on occasion. It was nostalgic to think about the times when we were close, when it felt like the world was whole. Maybe it was my broken home that made my life feel foreign and partially fractured to me. But deep inside, I realized, it was a feeling I knew was caused by more than the distance between us. 

With nostalgia and regret thick in my heart I began to write. 

Fresh baked cookies and  
Novelty youth, years passed by  
Wond’ring, praying, “mom?”

I looked down at the poem I'd just written. Again, the thought of talking about something so personal as my mother's death struck me. I hated talking about my own life and pains to other people just because they always got that look in their eyes, like I was a wounded animal, or else like they didn't know how to behave around me anymore. 

I got up and went to the kitchen to get a glass of water. Mikasa had been on her hydration phase for a while now. "Eren, drink some goddamn water! I don't know how you're alive living off coffee. That's a diuretic-" she'd say, going off on a tangent. I rolled my eyes at the thought. Come to think of it, she'd been really into fashion and health the past couple months. She was always making me take pictures of her 'OOTD' so she could post it for her fast-growing following. 

I stopped at her door, knocking a couple times before entering. "Eren?" she asked when I opened the door. 

"Who the fuck else?" I asked, laughing a bit. It looked like she was in the middle of hand-stitching something. Whatever it was had a floral pattern. 

"Why are you in here?" she asked, squinting up at me from her half-sitting position on her bed. 

"What do you write about to impress somebody?" I blurted out. "Theoretically I mean." I continued, hoping it sounded better out loud than it had in my head. Mikasa was wearing her this-is-really-fucking-suspicious expression. Probably not then. 

"Theoretically, hm. Try to put your feelings into words. Don't make it over-complicated, just be honest."

"What kind of feelings, though?" I asked. 

"I'm not the one taking creative writing." she amended, her eyebrows raising. She was clearly done with the conversation. 

"Well alright, thanks I guess." I said, turning to leave her room as quickly as I'd entered. 

That night Grisha made it home in time for a family dinner. Mikasa and I managed to pull together a pasta dish in time for it to look like we actually cooked when he wasn't around. While Mikasa was busy with the tomato sauce, I worked on making Mom's lemonade. Mom made a whole book of recipes before she got sick, saying "you guys are going to appreciate this when I'm old and gone!" She hadn't lived to be very old, but she'd been wise in her words. I treasured the book more than anything else she left behind. 

"Spaghetti and lemonade?" Mikasa asked, eyeing me strangely. 

"It'll be good, I promise." I said. I was definitely being optimistic on the combination. 

We set the table as Grisha entered the kitchen. "Mm, smells good," he complimented, rubbing his hands together before sitting down at the head of the table. 

"What would you like to drink, sir?" I asked, getting the drink glasses out of the cupboard. 

"Did you make Carla's lemonade?" 

"Yes, sir."

"Then I'll take that. Thank you, Eren." I almost smiled at his words, but remembered that they were out of politeness rather than kindness. I nodded instead and poured some of the drink into his glass. 

Dinner was always an ordeal and a half. There was the meal prep, then the table prep, then the prayer that traditionally lasted ten whole minutes, etc. The most exhausting part was trying to act like a family while eating. 

"How was school today? You're both doing well academically, I hope?" Mikasa was smart enough to meet and surpass Grisha's expectations, but my own small accomplishments escaped him. 

"Yes, I'm ninth in the class, sir." Mikasa said, bowing her head slightly. 

"Great news. Per usual for you," Grisha said, stopping to laugh. "And you, Eren?"

"Ah, I'm almost finished with a couple pieces that my teacher thinks could be submitted to the gallery downtown-" I started to explain, knowing that my GPA was far too low to be of discussion. Maintaining a 3.0 took immense effort on my part. I just wasn't naturally suited to science or math and it was something Grisha never understood. 

"But they're not finished yet." he interrupted, his eyes narrowing at me. I wanted to shake, but on instinct my fingernails pushed into the palms of my hands beneath the table. The pain brought an edge that kept me grounded in the conversation. 

"They will be within the week. I'm confident they'll be accepted into the gallery." I appeased. 

"If you're confident." Grisha replied, sighing deeply. He took a careful bite of pasta. "Excellent job on tonight's dinner, Mikasa."

Mikasa moved to open her mouth, but stopped. She smiled instead. "Thank you, sir." It was written all over her face that she wanted to defend me. She'd made the wise decision instead. I'd been telling her since middle school that there was no reason for Grisha to hate the both of us. She was smart enough to win his approval; why not keep it. 

We continued eating in silence for the rest of the meal. This silence was typical, and it always weighed heavily on Mikasa and I. Grisha was always carefree no matter the circumstance. After a while he pushed back his fork and knife, leaving his plate near-finished but not completely so, (to show good manners, certainly), and placed his fabric napkin on the place setting beside his plate. 

"Thank you, dinner was wonderful. I'm going to excuse myself to my study." He said, standing up. As if it were an afterthought, he added "don't stay up too late."

Mikasa and I waited for the sound of his door closing across the house. When it came we relaxed, slumping down in our chairs in the slightest, our demeanors ours again. 

"I'll take care of the dishes if you clean up the table?" I offered, knowing just how much Mikasa hated cleaning utensils. 

"Thanks. I'm sorry about tonight, by the way."

"It's not your fault." I said. I couldn't believe my sister to be at fault for any of this. No, she was just doing what she had to to make it through, same as me. We cleaned up dinner in a hurry, both of us eager to escape the place we'd last seen Grisha. When I'd finished rinsing the dishes and putting them in to be cleaned, I told Mikasa, "Goodnight, love you."

"See you tomorrow morning, Eren." she'd replied tiredly. 

Back in my room I thought about what kind of honest feelings I had. Admiration for Mr. Ackerman, love for my sister, a slight sense of resentment towards my father and regret for my mother. I found I couldn't identify how exactly I felt about myself. 

Never fall in love  
With the mirror's reflection  
Even that changes

Every day I miss  
You more, but lately this guilt  
Seems more like a chore

We were everywhere  
Our bodies traced across the  
Entire world-scape

I chose to leave the fifth unwritten so I could get a feel for what my classmates had written the next day, and write it then. I placed the four poems I did write into my folder for creative writing and moved to lay down in bed. I thought about calling up Armin, who I hadn't had much time to see in the past week or so. But I didn't want him to get the tired kindness he got in his voice when I called late at night. I thought of the petite blond, thought of the fondness I always felt towards him. I missed him. 

I got my phone out anyways and held my thumb over his contact for a moment, in limbo as to what I should do. I called him anyways. 

He picked up on the third ring, as he always did. "Eren?" he asked. 

"Yeah, it's me." I replied. I crossed my legs over each other. 

"Why did you call?" he asked, his voice timid. 

"I dunno, I missed you, I guess."

"Eren..." he began, his discomfort audible through the phone.

"It's not like that," I said, sighing. "I just missed you. We haven't talked, really talked, in a couple of weeks and I just wanted to talk to my best friend. Is that stupid?"

I heard a laugh on the other end. A hushed, "Hey, stop that!" followed. It was clearly Armin's voice alongside someone else's, but the other person's words were too muffled to make out. I heard a door shut and Armin was back again. "Sorry about that."

"What's going on?" I asked. Armin was a creature of habit. He had the same nightly patterns, same daily patterns even. He always answered on the third ring. He always asked if it was me (it always was, even though I didn't call him all that often). He was always alone. 

"Eren..." I could tell by his tone that something was coming. He never got all that serious on me. 

"Is something wrong? Are you alright?" I inquired, suddenly nervous that something had happened to Armin or his grandfather. 

"Eren, I'm with Jean."

"What the fuck?" I said. "Why're you hanging out with Horse Face? I know I haven't been the -best- friend lately, but-" I joked. 

"No, I'm with Jean." Armin repeated. He never repeated, just like he never interrupted me. 

"Oh." I said, because 'oh' is typically what you say when your best-friend-come-boyfriend-come-ex-boyfriend-come-best-friend is dating the asshole that booted you out of the closet and into the hellhole of homophobia your high school was eager to provide. Armin knew I hated Jean. He knew what kind of position Jean put me in. "Is that why you've been so distant lately?"

"Eren, hold on, don't pin this all on me-"

"Oh, fuck off, Armin." I spat. 

"You're the one who broke up with me. Okay? Remember that?" Armin snapped, clearly upset. It was also clear that he meant what he said. "You're the one who left me." I felt like shouting at him, felt like telling him the truth that I knew would only break him. I broke up with him about six months after my suicide attempt because I felt he deserved better than me, better than someone who had been so close to leaving him alone, forever. But Horse Face? Fuck if he was any better. 

"Armin." I said, my breaths shaky. "I'm sorry. I didn't-" I stuttered. I felt like the shittiest human on the planet in that moment. "If Horse Face is really who you want to go for, and if he makes you happy, then I'm happy for you. I want to be happy for you. Always." I spoke. "I just wish you would've come to me about this sooner. I don't want you to think you have to hide stuff from me, 'cus that's bullshit." There was a heavy beat of silence. 

"Thank you." he said finally. It sounded like he was crying and my heart broke for him. "And I just- Eren, I know this isn't the best time for it, but why not? I always feel as though you're hiding things from me. You don't go out, you quit the swim team last year, you've changed." He paused. "Lately I thought you were reverting back to the old Eren, but I'm not sure who you are anymore." he said quietly. 

"I-" I began, quick to defend myself. 

"I'm glad you're supportive of Jean and I. It's sweet of you." Armin said suddenly.

"Of course-"

"If you don't mind, I should be getting back to him." I nodded before remembering he couldn't see my expression through the phone.

"Sure-"

"Goodnight." And with that, Armin hung up. 

In the silence after the phone call I couldn't help but think and feel. A let down. That's what it was like. I felt like I'd hurt and maimed my best friend when all I had tried to do was protect him. Protect him from the fucked-up side of me I was trying desperately to fix. 

Another part of me was nauseated at the thought of Armin and Jean fucking, because he was Horse Face, and because deep within me somewhere I probably still had feelings for Armin. 

After a while I got up and walked next door to Mikasa's room, where I politely knocked on the door before entering for the second time that evening. Mikasa was still awake, thumbing through an issue of Teen Vogue while sitting on her bed. 

"Did you get any of that?" I asked her. 

Mikasa didn't bother looking up and didn't miss a beat. "The walls here are pretty thin, Eren."

"So you knew Armin was fucking Horse Face?" I asked. At this, Mikasa looked up to glare at me. 

"Oh, c'mon, what should I have done?"

I sighed and came to sit next to Mikasa, leaning against her. She put the magazine down on her lap, turning to brush the bangs out of my face. She was waiting for me to say something. Probably waiting for me to blurt out, 'I think I still have feelings for Armin! I really fucked up, huh?' because that sounded like classic Eren material. But it was also already understood. 

"Do you know why I broke up with him?" I asked instead. Thinking back, my reasoning was pretty half-assed in the whole matter, but when wasn't my thinking half-assed. 

"No fucking idea." Mikasa admitted. 

"It was hot outside and he wanted to go swimming, kept begging me to join the team again. It's his favorite thing in the world, Mikasa, and I couldn't be there for him or with him because of all my fucking cuts." I felt her stiffen at my words. "And I kind of realized that I was hiding all this shit from him. I loved him, god I fucking loved him, but I couldn't hold him back. I was always wearing long-sleeved shirts and I could never change in front of him. I couldn't even take my shirt off for him." I continued, tearing up as I spoke. "We could never go past making out. He thought I was just self-conscious, that I didn't want to have sex with him, that I wasn't... attracted to him."

"Eren." Mikasa said. 

"I just wish he could know. And I wish I could take back every mark on me just so me and Armin could've stood an actual chance. It's so fucked up, Mika, that Armin's with him." I finished, a tear rolling down my cheek. Mikasa reached up to gently wipe it off with the sleeve of her shirt. 

"I know. I know..." she said, working to comfort me and calm me down. I felt like I couldn't breathe, like the walls were closing in on me, and I closed my eyes at the thought. I had to calm myself down, slow breath by slow breath, before I led myself into a full-blown anxiety attack. Within half a minute or so I was fine again, my head re-grounded. 

"Have you thought about telling Armin this?" Mikasa asked. 

"And what, have him feel guilty about it forever? It would crush him." I replied. 

"Do you actually think you can wear long sleeves around him forever? That the sleeves of your shirts are never going to ride up, that he magically won't be suspicious of you avoiding the outdoors for the rest of our lives?" Mikasa asked. "He's going to find out. You need to figure out how you want him to." she advised. 

I knew she was right. Trying to hide the majority of my skin from my best friend wouldn't keep working, not if I wanted to try and repair our relationship. Armin would eventually want more than me playing video games with him. He'd want an actual friend, someone available to him... like Horse Face. I sighed. 

"You're right." I said. "I think I just need time."

"Don't take too much," Mikasa warned. I frowned at her words. 

Later, back in my own bed, I texted Armin. 

//We need to talk//

He replied about twenty minutes later, back to his usual fake-oblivious demeanor. At least it was some normalcy, I supposed. 

//About what?//

I thought about being snarky with him, but I couldn't stay angry at Armin for long, and I didn't want to start another senseless fight with him that would only hurt us both. 

//Some serious stuff. After school tomorrow?//

//Your house?//

//Sounds good, I'll pick you up from your homeroom. :p//

I knew the face with the tongue emoji was pushing too much too soon, but at this point there was little to lose. I knew Armin wouldn't back out on meeting with me tomorrow over a single stupid-ass emoji. I didn't bother waiting up for a goodnight text. Neither of us was going to send one.


	4. There It Is, Growing

The next morning I brought a thermos of coffee to school. Black, but the roast was flavored. My first few classes of the day were boring; math IV and British literature never stood a chance at keeping my attention. I usually doodled in the margins of my notebook during those classes. But this day I spent writing haikus. They were actually almost fun when you did enough of them at a time. It felt like there was something meaningful flowing through my fingertips, running down my pen and racing out onto the paper beneath my hand. 

I was excited for Mr. Ackerman's class. I was ready to fully escape thoughts of Mikasa and Jean and Armin, and the cuts on my wrists that sometimes itched in a way I knew must be psychosomatic. In his classroom I wasn't worried about anything except for my writing. Sure, I wanted him to approve of my works, but in the grander scheme of things what Mr. Ackerman was really doing was giving me reason and hope to improve myself. No one else in my life had confidence in me, not in the way that he did. He knew I could work at a problem til I fixed it; dig deep into a passage until it was just right. He instilled a sense of active pride in me. 

I watched the clock in the classrooms I occupied before his, counting the minutes down until I could write again. When the last bell--the one standing between British literature and creative writing--rang, I was all too eager to go to my locker and get my things for the class. Hiking up to the third floor science wing from the first floor English hall was the same pain in the ass it always was, but it seemed a little lighter than usual at least. On my way back downstairs I passed Horse Face's locker. I immediately noticed the cataclysmic shift in the universe that had taken place some time ago right under my very own nose. Armin was leaning comfortably against Horse Face's locker, staring at him with a look I can only describe as being full of admiration. I can't say that time stopped in that moment, that it felt like my entire world was crashing down around me, because that's not true at all. I did feel something dislodge in my heart. But time kept going and my world kept turning. Armin looked happier standing there with Jean than he had in a long time. Admittedly I searched hard for any sign of this being fake. Maybe it wasn't too late, maybe Armin wasn't in love with the fool. 

Jean leaned over Armin to whisper something in his ear, and Armin's faced flushed bright red in response. The actual animal couldn't contain himself for even a minute. 

I took a step, and another step, and then I kept walking. It was easy to pick a direction and just keep going. Yeah, Armin was in love with Jean. There was still no way in hell Jean deserved my best friend, but Armin deserved to be with whoever he wanted. So I just kept walking. 

I arrived at Mr. Ackerman's class seconds before the bell rang. I was slightly out of breath from the descent--It was a lot of stairs, after all. 

"Nice of you to join us, Mr. Jaeger." Mr. Ackerman teased, imploring the class to chuckle at my tardiness. 

"Sorry," I apologized, bowing my head in embarrassment. 

I went to take my usual seat by the window only to find a girl seated beside it. She had light brown hair pulled back tightly into a ponytail. She brushed the bangs out of her eyes upon seeing me, and grinned brightly. I gave a nod to her overenthusiastic smile, but honestly, it was kind of creepy to see.

"You're forgiven this time. Sasha, if you could start off by reading one of your five haikus." Mr. Ackerman directed, gesturing to the girl beside me. Apparently her name was Sasha. 

"Yes, sir." she responded politely. She picked up a sheet of lined notebook paper that appeared to have random scribbles on it, something I could hardly recognize as writing. I'd thought my own handwriting was rough at times, but even from a few feet away I could see that hers proved something altogether its own. She was happy to oblige Mr. Ackerman as she began reading aloud: "There it is, growing. So nutritious, so tasty. I am overwhelmed." The room remained silent for a beat until Mr. Ackerman began a slow applause. I stared at him nervously. Sure, he was remedying the situation, but all the students of the classroom, including myself, clearly shared the same bewilderment. It was pasted across our faces. 

"A potato, no?" Mr. Ackerman asked, stopped to poke a finger at Sasha's desk. 

"Yes!" she squealed, positively beaming at his response. 

"Alright, brats, Sasha's sole inspiration thus far this year has been the potato. I do hope the rest of you shits find something so meaningful to you." Mr. Ackerman said dryly, obviously unimpressed by our collective response. I turned to give Sasha a nervous but hopeful smile. 

Sasha mouthed a 'thank-you!' to me. 

"Eren." Mr. Ackerman continued. Caught off-guard, I lost my train of thought completely and forgot about all the haikus I'd stashed securely in my folder the night before. Instead I looked down at my notebook, open to a page full of half-finished haiku phrasing I'd come up with earlier in British literature. 

"Uhh," I drawled out, frantically searching the page with my eyes for any semblance of a decent poem. "I saw you in the / nighttime, wand'ring all alone / even God cried out."

I looked up from the paper when I finished and saw a few interested faces, but otherwise my classmates remained undeterred by my writing. A let out a small sigh of relief. 

"I liked it. It has potential as a full poem, I think." Mr. Ackerman critiqued, but all that mattered to me at that moment was that he enjoyed it. He liked my writing.

This class period with Mr. Ackerman I made sure to actually pay attention, especially to what my classmates had to say. One girl wrote about her mother that had died somewhat recently. I hadn't realized there was anyone else at Shinganshina High who had lost their mother. A guy named Marco wrote a haiku about how much he loved his bisexual girlfriend, which was surprisingly well-received. Marco didn't write it to sexualize her. He explained that he wrote it for her, he wanted to read it to her so she could understand how him knowing this about her only made him love her more. That was probably my favorite haiku of the day. 

Mr. Ackerman wrapped up his class with an introduction to more free-style poetry. He handed out instructions for that night's assignment: he wanted us to write 3 poems freely, and to do so without Googling a dictionary definition. If free poetry to us meant rhymed and timed, fine, he said. If it meant no rhymes or repetition or semblance of structure, that was fine, too. I already knew I planned on using the haiku I'd read aloud to the class and expanding upon it, but I wasn't sure what I'd cook up for the other two poems. 

All too soon the school bell rang and I was forced to gather up my belongings. 

"If you could see me when you're finished, Eren." Mr. Ackerman said. Most of the other students had already shuffled out of the room.

"Sure, Mr. Ackerman." I replied, remembering he'd asked me not to call him sir. I waited for it to be just Mr. Ackerman and I left in the room before I approached his desk. "Is there something wrong?" I asked, worried that he only kept me back because he'd changed his mind over what I'd written yesterday. He wouldn't be out of bounds to do so, really. Suddenly what I'd written, all my naive excitement for today- it seemed wrong, somehow. Immature. 

"Oh, no. You look like you didn't get any sleep last night, I was concerned." he admitted, eyes skimming my face. I reached a hand up to rub at my eyes, hoping I might look a little more awake. 

"I'm fine." I replied, giving Mr. Ackerman the most lively smile I could muster. 

"Alright, brat, I'm going to refill your thermos while you talk. Okay?" Mr. Ackerman said, his voice demanding. I looked down in surprise, having forgotten I even took the thermos with to this class. 

"Yes, sir, I mean Mr. Ackerman." I said, acting like I hadn't noticed the suspicious glance Mr. Ackerman paid me when I called him 'sir' again. I watched him get to work on making a fresh pot of coffee before realizing he was waiting for me to speak. 

"Last night my best friend told me he's dating somebody else, but this kid, he's an absolute asshole. He's the one that outed me, if you remember from my prompt." I began. I saw Mr. Ackerman nod and heard an audible 'tch' with my words. "And normally I wouldn't care, but again, he chose to date this asshole. And my friend is blaming me for dumping him, but at the time I felt it was the best thing for him."

"You still have feelings for your best friend?" he inquired. I was slightly startled by his words, I'd been so caught up in trying to translate the dilemma in my head into actual words. 

"Honestly, I don't think so anymore. Because it's not about the fact he's dating, it's about who he's dating. And I don't want to be back together with him. I only wish it would've worked out between us." I said, pausing to think. "But it didn't." And that was the truth, wasn't it? I loved Armin, but I still had questions about whether or not we'd ever been in love with one another. 

"Sometimes we wish for things that are impossible. That doesn't make you stupid, Eren, that makes you human." Mr. Ackerman spoke. I looked up at his words, noticing that he had already filled my thermos with hot coffee and was waiting for me to take it from his extended hands. 

"Thank you," I replied, unsure of how to respond to his kind words and his (very) good coffee. I reached out to accept the thermos only to place my hands on top of his, accidentally noting just how warm and soft and inviting they were. 

"What impossible things do you wish for?" I asked, searching his gray eyes for some kind of an answer. Mr. Ackerman was back to his usual black slacks and gray button-down today, back to his usual gold watch. He was consistent, he was always put-together, he had always appeared to me to be unreachable to the rest of the world as though he were situated above it entirely. Mr. Ackerman pulled back, cupping my hands around the thermos quickly. 

"A just world. A safe one, even." he admitted. I wondered if he would always surprise me, wondered if that truth in his eyes was permanent. I didn't want to ever see somebody as strong against the fate of the world as Mr. Ackerman was wilt to it. I gazed into his eyes for another moment, forgetting my self-restraint enough that I took a step forward to his step back to study him. Maybe, I thought, I wouldn't find what I was looking for after all. 

I stepped back to leave, watching as Mr. Ackerman seemed to catch his breath before me. "Thank you for the coffee, again." I said, moving to leave the room. The warmth of the thermos reminded me of the feeling of his hands on mine, and I ignored the shiver that traced its way up my spine as best I could. Social studies still had to be attended to, after all.

\- - -

After the school day finished I still found myself patiently waiting by Armin's locker. Even after the revelation I'd reached with Mr. Ackerman, I felt I needed to meet with him to clear things up. He was still my best friend and I didn't want him to think I was pissed at him or jealous. Even if I was just the teeniest bit so. I smiled on instinct when I saw his blond head of hair come into view, skirting through the crowd Shinganshina High School released out into the world every day at 3 o'clock sharp. 

"Hey," I said. Armin gave me a smile so tight it was nearly painful, but nodded in greeting anyways. I watched him fiddle with his locker to fit in the right combination, and then pack his bookbag heavy with science and math textbooks. Armin wanted to be a doctor, but he said he might just end up being a physician's assistant instead. I had no idea what the fuck that meant, so I'd always told him to 'just be a doctor'. That had always sounded wise in my opinion. 

"You ready to go?" Armin asked. I shook my head of my thoughts and gave him another smile that I hoped appeared confident. My stomach twisted into knots when I remembered that today was the day I wanted to explain to him why I broke up with him. He'd deserved that, and for the past six months I'd been denying him closure. I led Armin out of the school and into the student parking lot in silence. 

The both of us climbed into my car. Before I shifted into drive I fiddled with the car radio, trying desperately to fill the void silence. The parking lot was already nearly empty, and suddenly I remembered that one post that was like, "most coming-outs take place in cars", and that was some true shit. I came out to Mikasa when we were driving around town one night in the rain. Grisha was hosting some kind of doctor party thing that night, and it had been made clear to us that we weren't welcome in the house until the morning after. We were actually driving to Armin's house, I remember, and with my heart slung into my open palm I told my sister I prefer men to women. (The exact words were, 'yo, I'm gay'. But that sounds ineloquent.)

Right now, sitting next to Armin in my car feeling this horrible, tense awkwardness, I wanted to laugh out loud. When was it that we let it get this bad between us? It hadn't happened in the past two weeks or even the last month. I looked down at my hands, shaking in their loose grip on the steering wheel. This was worse than coming out. I didn't mind being gay. In full disclosure, it was probably one of the things I actually liked about myself. I hated how society saw me as fundamentally less for it. But this--my vaguely fucked-up mental health--that was something I hated about myself. Because I wanted to be fully better. I'd kill to lose the part of me that was constantly fearing the worst, constantly fearing for my next relapse into cutting or constant crying. I wanted to be better.

"Eren?" Armin asked, and I could tell he was looking at me, really looking. Searching for understanding. 

"Yeah, sorry." I said. 

"Why are you apologizing?" Armin asked. 

"Uh, because I don't want to drive. I don't want to sit here, or be here, really." I explained. 

"You invited me-" he defended. I looked over at Armin, at his pissy blue eyes and his blond hair that was getting to be a little too long on one side. 

"Yeah. I want to fix things between us more than I don't want to be here." I said, hoping my words were at least somewhat helpful. Fuck, this whole situation was just ridiculous. I stopped, looking up and around. My car was situated near the back of the student parking lock, by a row of trees shielding the neighborhood houses from the sights of the high school. And we were the last car left in the lot, the rest having cleared out for some eager Friday night activities. 

I started to pull off my shirt. 

"What the fuck are you doing?!" Armin, squealed, grabbing at my wrist to try and stop me from finishing my current task. 

"It's not sexual, damn." I replied, my voice almost muffled completely by my shirt. I peeled it over my head and set it on the center console, crumpled up as it was. I laughed when I saw that Armin had hidden his face behind his hands. Gently, I pried his hands off of his eyes and waited for him to open them. "Trust me, Armie." I said. There was an emotion in my voice that not even I could describe if I tried, and it compelled him to look at me. 

Armin sighed. "What am I looking at-" he stopped, his eyes widening. He reached a hand out, leaving it in the for air for a few seconds before revoking it, taking it back to his chest. I grabbed my shirt and nervously turned it right-side out. I pulled it back over my head and covered myself again, glad to have the feeling of sleeves surrounding my wrists to comfort me again. They itched less that way, too. Still, one scratch found its way to my right side where I knew I'd once inflicted a particularly nasty gash over my rib cage. I'd tried lotioning the motherfucker time and time again to no avail. The will to scratch over that knob of scar tissue always came back to me. 

"I couldn't go swimming with you." I said finally. Armin's eyes widened, and narrowed, and then looked distraught in general. 

"You broke up with me because we couldn't go swimming?" he asked, clearly upset. 

"I broke up with you because I couldn't be a normal boyfriend, Armin, and because you deserve someone who can... who can be there for you." I explained. It took a certain effort to fight down the lump in my throat as I spoke.

"So all those times..?" Armin trailed off, anxiously watching me for a reaction.

"Yeah, I was fucking attracted to you. I liked you. A lot."

"Oh." he said. "Oh." he repeated. I rolled my eyes. Here he was, still worrying over whether or not I'd ever liked him, over whether or not I'd loved him as a friend. I wanted to shout that I was still here, that I'd been here all along, but he wouldn't understand. Armin lived in a river called denial. 

"It's not like I could just take my shirt off in the middle of making out, would you wanna have that conversation then?" I asked. 

"You could've told me another time." he argued, crossing his arms in defiance. 

"I could've?" I asked. I raised my eyebrows at him. He stared for a moment before shaking his head, giving me a loose smile from across the passenger seat. 

"I'm so sorry, Eren." he apologized. 

"It's okay. I'm a lot better now, I promise. I'm in a different place." I said. I wanted him to fully understand that I wasn't some fragile piece of china, that I was honestly working on fixing myself. 

"I know. Your scars looked old." he said. I'd forgotten how good he was at anything involving health or medicine, even at only eighteen years old. 

I shifted the car into drive, preparing to leave the parking lot at last. "Thanks, Armin." And in a way, Armin got what I was trying to say without me needing to say absolutely everything. Like finishing my sentences for me. 

But I missed Mr. Ackerman's words of comfort already. He understood me without me having to speak at all, and he knew what to say to make me feel like I was more for feeling all that I did rather than less for it. He had a way of making me feel alive. Of making me work harder at everything, giving me reason to work and move forward. And thinking back to the sight of his gray eyes earlier--to the way they widened slightly, the light charcoal of his irises seeming to darken with my close proximity--maybe he did have it. The thing I was searching for. In Armin, in the nights I spent alone thinking to myself, in the pieces of art I poured my entire self into. 

I frowned. "Coffee?" Armin asked hopefully. I nodded in reply. 

"That sounds great."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> early update for sure ! a couple of things-  
> i wanted this chapter to be longer, but it felt right ending it where i did.  
> i died writing sasha's haiku, i think i'm in love with her.  
> i did write a pun into the chapter near the end. it was accidental, i promise. 
> 
> i tried to make this chapter a little more light-hearted, though it ended dark. thank you guys for reading and i adore all your feedback !


	5. Best Friend

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> !!! sexual content warning !!!  
>  A couple things-  
> -I didn't mean for this to happen? The chapter kinda wrote itself this way. I don't plan on having Eren/Armin sail on very long if that discourages anyone from reading.  
> -I'm sorry for the late-ish update. I work part-time and my job is physically+mentally taxing. I needed 2/3 days to recuperate (cry and go to the gym).  
> Thank you guys for reading/commenting, i love it!

Coffee with Armin that early evening was two words: 'limited' and 'strained'. Armin wouldn't do Starbucks or Peet's Coffee, nah, he had to do the quiet, entrepreneurial, non-corporate ventures. It's always been his thing to find the obscure underdog in any situation; if it's niche, all the better. That was probably why he was dating Horse Face Jean, I thought gloomily.

I barely managed to parallel-park my car into the last tight spot left on Arbor Street, a section of town reminiscent of old Main Street America. Down two blocks, passed a record shop, a theater, and a quaint bookshop, sat a coffee shop so niche Armin actually cried the day he (we) first stumbled upon it. It had been our second date. I'd insisted on paying, of course, to which he had blushed and thanked me bashfully. We'd sat too close together and our legs kept bumping together beneath the high bar-type table. Eventually I stilled my maneuvering so that our legs stayed intertwined as we sipped our coffee and talked in hushed voices about everything. And that was the thing I'd missed most about Armin. The ability to talk about anything and everything. Armin understood my thoughts before I registered them myself, he often finished the words coming from my mouth just for the hell of it. Just because he could, and because he knew it pleased me that he cared enough to pay attention to me.

I missed feeling like I was coming home when I saw him. Missed running my hands through his hair when I was stressed, threading the loose straw-colored strands through my fingers. Missed teasing him and seeing him and loving him. But none of that--none of my slightly embittered emotions--would ever be able to make us feel completely right together.

Still, I sat with Armin in the coffee shop that we'd once-upon-a-time-ago claimed as ours. Because I wanted it to fit right again, wanted to force the puzzle pieces till they were so compromised and crumpled and bent they connected.

He had promptly ordered a double-shot dirty chai with soy milk, while I'd asked the barista for a simple large dark roast. "I'll pay," I told Armin.

"I have a boyfriend." he said, but his words came out somewhat strangled. The barista peeked at us from behind the glass island. I simply waved my hand at my best friend's protest.

"And I have a best friend." I looked up at the barista. "Two scones, too, please." Armin pouted for a moment, but perked up as soon as he received his hot chai. I rolled my eyes. It was good to see him acting immature, though. He was always so uptight about school and extracurriculars, and about being the best person he could be.

We chose to sit in a couple of cozy and worn armchairs facing each other affront the storefront windows. Armin took a polite bite of his strawberry scone, licking a spare bit of cream from his lips. I watched and told myself it was a disinterested stare.

"How're your classes going, Eren?" Armin asked suddenly.

"Uh?" I grunted, eyes widening slightly at the question. "Why the fuck would you even ask me that? You know I'm not good at school," I replied, laughing despite the slight edge in my voice.

"It seems you've been enjoying it more since you started creative writing. That's why I asked." he explained, studying me carefully. He was never good at hiding his intentions.

"Well, Mr. Ackerman is a good guy. He gets me, you know? It's like I can actually write for him and he doesn't micro-correct everything. I dunno." I said. I shrugged back into my chair.

"It doesn't have to do with your constant need to be understood?"

"I said he got me, I don't know what more you're wanting to hear." I defended. I frowned at his choice of wording.

"I'm sorry," Armin said suddenly, slumping down across from me. "I didn't mean that- I can tell you like him." he continued. He paused as if considering what to say.

"I'm not here to fuck you and Jean over, Armin. I know you think I'm like some evil, sexy devil-man trying to strip away your innocence, but I'm not. I just wanted you to know why I dumped you. And I want you back as friend. But this whole internal conflict bullshit? That's on you." I said quietly. I took a quick breath after I finished speaking, halfway expecting the man across from me to rise suddenly from his seat and smack me straight across the face. I tilted my head down at the realization that I wasn't worried about being hit because I believed I actually would be. It was only another reflex I'd developed as a result of Grisha's fantastic parenting. It was only another side-effect I'd most likely carry with me for the rest of my life.

When I risked a glance up, Armin's face held a pained expression. "Can you love two people at once?" he asked. He was genuine then, in the look in eyes and the pout of his lips and the way his neat blond hair was piled back on his head. I wanted to kiss him again. It was more about the absence of a person, more than the feeling of craving human touch. His name was the only thought in my head.

"I hope so," I answered carefully. Honestly.

He returned to me a soft smile as reply.

\- - -

I stared down at my finished three poems. I was proud of them. Mainly, I was proud of myself for having completed all my homework by 3 a.m. on a Saturday morning. Like nearly every other American teenager, I typically waited til 9 p.m. Sunday night or 5 a.m. Monday morning. Mr. Ackerman's assignments motivated me, though. The three poems assignment had been enough to push me through math and English after I told myself his work would come last. And I really fucking hated math.

1  
Skin and bone, skin and bone  
That's all I seem, I am  
No thoughts amid my lost brain lust  
No thoughts, no flee  
No wisened me  
I am, I am, I am

2  
I saw you in the  
nighttime, wand'ring all alone  
even God cried out  
"poor wicked child  
and sweet forbidden youth;  
you've brought me understanding  
i ask no more of you"  
I saw you in the  
nighttime, no longer alone.

3  
When the world feels so cold and lonely  
Your voice sounds like milk and honey  
Tell me, will the world keep turning  
After I'm forgotten by the worst I've known?

When I've fallen from my feet  
The bad, it sounds so sweet  
You remind me of all that's good  
You're an ocean; and I drown in relief.

Tell me, will my heart keep burning  
With feelings so painful to keep?  
You're up scaling magnificent mountains  
Yet I'm starving in a valley.

Sunlight and rain  
And all the things unmaimed  
Tell me, is it selfish?  
To want to be with a human like you

When I'm only a person like me.

I stared particularly long at the third poem, wondering where it had come from. Almost everything I wrote had some kind of identifiable root. The first was about the weight of living, and how it felt for me to be alive without owning my own life. The second was about the passing of my mother. How sometimes I would see her wander the halls of the house late at night when she thought everyone was asleep. How she was so sick, but she still loved to walk in the silent solace of the night. The third wasn't at all about Armin or the happenings of today, or I guess yesterday now, that had involved him.

What I had written wasn't about him at all and it confused me. Our coffee "friend-date" had consisted of near-silence after he'd practically confessed his love for me and his current boyfriend in the same sentence. What could I say to that? I couldn't make him pick a side even if he wanted to, and why would he? Armin was always so grounded in reality that sometimes he forgot things could exist outside of how he saw them. Right now he had a wonderful boyfriend and a supportive ex-boyfriend. Why choose between the two?

The silence had carried us through a full half-hour, by which time I had finished my coffee and gotten up to search the bookshelves of the coffee shop for any interesting reads. I hated English class but that didn't mean I hated English literature or else literature of any kind. I found reading to be enjoyable and relaxing, if not a little heavy on time consumption.

I didn't notice when Armin stood and made his way towards me. My first indication that anyone was near me was a light pressure against my back.

"Uh?' I'd grunted softly in confusion.

"What kind of thing are you searching for?" Armin asked from behind, reaching an arm around me to skim the spines of the books nearest him.

"I was just browsing..." I trailed off, my heart beginning to race at the heat against my back. Was he flirting with me?

"Fantasy, maybe?" Armin offered, words flirting. That clearly answered my question. My head began to swim dully. Hadn't he been the one to point out he had a boyfriend just an hour ago?

"Maybe." I said carefully, avoiding turning to face him. This whole situation seemed unreal.

"Yeah?" Armin asked, voice low. Confused, I turned to look at him at last and saw the person I knew seven months ago staring back at me. There he was--finally--the Armin I'd left behind through fault all my own. The man I'd missed so much. His pupils were enlarged, cheeks reddened, and hair tousled just like earlier. In that moment we weren't in a coffee shop off Arbor Street. We were watching the sunrise, we were spinning each other in circles at homecoming, we were holding hands for the first time openly in public. It was like the part of us I'd worried was always dead and gone was alive and well. It had only been buried for a little while.

"My car?" I'd asked. A sudden braveness had swept over me in that moment. I wasn't thinking about what Armin and I might regret, about Mikasa or Jean or anyone else. It was only the two of us in the absolute present. Armin stared at me, searching my eyes deeply for something. He pulled back and walked away, tossing his cup into the nearest trash can in the shop. When he gestured for me to follow him outside I nearly couldn't believe it.

It was still daylight out, but some of the traffic on Arbor Street had left with the hour. I was glad for it as we began the trek towards my car. Every now and again we risked a glance at one another. The walk to my car seemed to take forever, but at last we neared it and I hit the key to unlock it. He was quick to climb into my car and I soon followed. Being outside on the sidewalk and imagining being alone with him, and actually being alone with him were two very different things. As soon as I started my car and assessed the situation, really assessed, I realized we were in broad daylight and occupying the front seats of my car. Literally any passerby could see. I turned up the car radio so that it was at a beat-y thrum, the local radio station playing one of the day's greatest pop hits. The song was so bland it was unrecognizable.

Out of the awkwardness: "backseat?" Armin's voice asked hopefully. And how could I say no to that? Say no to him when I was so pissed at him, when I missed him so much, when he was so upsetting to me I was becoming apathetic. I watched attentively as he climbed out of his seat and over the center console into the back of my car. His small body was cat-like in how it moved, almost stretching into the backseat. I was lucky with how the back of my car had strongly tinted windows, although it was quite cramped. I chose to watch my best friend in anticipation before climbing back myself, heart beating a mile a minute as I realized how close we were.

I pressed myself over the center console before moving to be beside Armin as gently as possible. My heart was up in my throat and my head was underwater as I felt his skin press against mine. He was moving his legs to drape over mine, his chest against mine as he climbed to sit atop my lap. His weight against me was familiar. He arched his back the vaguest bit so that we were closer. I closed my eyes instinctively as Armin's face neared mine, my lips waiting impatiently to be kissed. I felt his lips brush mine in the lightest way, teasing me. I let out a high-pitched whine at the loss I felt before I pressed in against him. My hands grabbed his waist as my lips finally pressed, really pressed, against his. His lips were soft as always, and I could feel his breaths panting out against me in the sweetest way. My hands began to slip beneath his wool sweater. His hips were always so soft and pliant beneath my palms. Armin kissed me unexpectedly harder when I ran a hand up his spine tentatively. I tried it again, this time using my nails to scratch his back lightly, harder when his body twitched against mine. That's when I felt his tongue dart out to swipe at the seam of my lips. Surprised, I opened my lips softly only for him to lick gently at me.

I heard him release a soft "uhn" when I scratched his back again, our tongues moving together for the first time. I wanted more of his body against mine. I teasingly moved my hands towards the front of his torso, edging up over his ribcage as Armin whined and pushed against my hands. He lifted his own hands up, one to grip onto my hair and the other to shift beneath my waistband. I let out a startled noise when I felt his hand at my hip, pressing against and almost kneading the skin there. He moved it as though he meant to touch me, but before he got the chance to try anything I cut him off by rubbing the pads of my fingertips over his nipples softly.

"Fuck," he panted out against my lips, gripping my hip and my head forcefully. His nails pressed into me almost painfully as I circled his chest again. "Please," he let out, his voice completely wrecked. My heart was a lump in my throat still as I kissed him fervently, pressing my hands against him more forcefully. His hips canted over mine at the feeling, causing a heavy amount of unexpected friction.

Armin lowered his hand beneath the band of my shorts, moving it against and over the fabric of my boxers. It was then that he bowed his head to kiss my chin, moving his head to explore the side of my neck through sloppy kisses and sharp bites. His lips pressed against my neck over and over again in a way that told me he was distracted by whatever he was finding. Unconsciously I knew that I'd be waking up to more than a few bruises the next morning, but right then I didn't care. All I knew was that Armin had a hand down my pants and his mouth licking its way down my collar bones, and fuck if it didn't feel good. I arched my back against the backseat to give him better access to my exposed skin. Armin appeared grateful at the action, pushing me back. I moved my hands out from under his shirt to grip at his head.

"Armin," I said, voice raspy. Armin only sucked harder against my throat, his soft, utterly muffled reply sending vibrations against my skin that tickled me, and more than that, turned me on. My best friend grabbing my dick over my underwear is what woke me up at last.

"Armin," I said again, my voice a little louder this time. I didn't know what to do, but realizing what the two of us were doing, in the backseat of my car, in a very public part of downtown, when Armin had an actual real boyfriend that wan't me? That was a lot. That was a whole lot.

Armin tried to continue his absolute onslaught when I finally pushed him, feeling his body separate from mine.

"Eren?" he asked, voice weak and confused. He seemed to snap out of it when he saw my expression. "What's wrong?" he asked. How could he not know the answer? How is it that he couldn't see it, blinking right back at him? This was wrong.

"Armin-" I began.

"Don't." he interrupted, his expression changing. "Don't." he repeated, pulling his shirt down to cover his stomach. He reached up to brush his hands through his hair. I didn't bother fixing anything. I knew my neck would give everything away, but Armin had someone he needed to protect from this.

I sighed as Armin turned away from me, clearly upset, before huffing loudly and moving back into the passenger seat. "Please take me home." he called from the front of the car.

"Now." he demanded, as though the .2 seconds of silence he had offered me to speak had been enough for me to take him halfway across the city to his grandfather's. I rolled my eyes. And fuck, this was what I hadn't missed, and this was what I hadn't at all been thinking of when I entered the coffee shop with Armin. I took a deep breath before following Armin, sitting back into the driver's seat.

By this point the sun was coming to set, and I soaked in the bright golden light before putting the car into reverse. The radio was still playing some shitty pop music softly, but this was the first time since we'd climbed in that it had actually been audible over the noise we were made.

"Don't you fucking tell Jean about this." Armin said halfway home. I had been thinking of what to say to him for the past five minutes. His words didn't shock me, I had even guessed he'd say something to this effect. I simply nodded at his anger. He was really pissed off, considering how rarely he cursed. He had no reason to fear me. I didn't think I'd even be able to look Horse Face--Jean--in the eyes after this. Shame and guilt were already heavy in my heart. So much for patching up an old friendship.

Armin practically jumped out of the car the second I pulled into his grandfather's driveway. I watched him jog away from my car and up to the front door, where he slipped inside without so much as a glance back at me.

I sat there, staring at Armin's house, at the place I'd been a million times. I wondered why I felt so empty and lonely staring at that house. Maybe it was because I was worried I'd lost him for good, or because I'd just found out the hard way that Armin couldn't pick between the two of us. I think I felt the way I did because it wasn't what I'd expected or wanted. I'd expected some kind of sense of fulfillment from kissing him. I'd expected things to feel the way they used to I wanted to be able to say I loved him again and mean it. Wanted him to understand me wholly; fuck, he was right on that after all. And maybe, above all that, I was just the least bit upset that he'd forgotten the past I'd just shown him in favor of some sexual and romantic awakening founded on recklessness.

And that's why I went home and did homework til 3 a.m. Because I needed to complete Mr. Ackerman's homework to keep my sanity, because I needed all the fucking busywork. Looking down at that third poem... well, I was almost glad there was something in my life that wasn't about Armin.


	6. Chan's Thai Medley Featuring Shrimp

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey-- some things:  
> -Levi x Eren will happen,, but the story is labelled slow burn for a reason. I promise I won't make it to 100k words without the main ship, though  
> -Probably slower updates through Monday  
> -This story is unexpectedly hard to write. It's a little too introspective for comfort, but I enjoy the release of just writing out what I've lived and building characters on that

Mikasa came into my room sometime Saturday morning, wrinkling her nose up at the lack of daylight (I'd gotten up to draw the blinds). I was half-asleep in my bed, still recovering from my all-nighter of productivity. She paused beside my desk, shuffling through the papers strewn carelessly atop it. She turned back to face me. I blinked up at her blankly.

"Is this homework?" she asked.

"Yeah." I rasped out, touching my throat at the scratchy sensation. I needed water and an Advil.

Mikasa shook her head in disbelief before shuffling the papers into a neat pile on the corner of my desk. "You amaze me." she muttered. She moved to open the blinds so that light poured into the room, casting a soft yellow glow over everything. I squinted at the intrusion. After standing by the window for a moment she came to my bed, sitting on the edge of my comforter. Her quiet was discomforting--Mikasa was always forthright with her feelings, whether it be through action or words. Her silence had meaning.

"Why are you here?" I asked, tossing an arm over my head to carelessly block out the sunlight.

"Armin cancelled our plans today." she said dully. I was surprised her voice wasn't accusatory. Not yet at least.

"Oh?" I asked innocently. And in my mind I truly was innocent. Armin made the decision to avoid Mikasa out of his own feelings. Maybe it was his own fear of me suddenly rattling off every secret I held, or maybe it was his deep-seated revenge complex. Either way, I believed he should've been held accountable for cancelling his plans. Not me.

"He said to ask you why." she continued. I removed my arm from my face to look over at my sister, who was playing with the corner of my bedspread, a lonely slump to her shoulders. I let out a tired sigh.

"We ended up, like, kissing last night. After coffee. That's all." I explained.

"Armin dumped Jean?" she asked, surprise clear in her voice. I wanted to roll my eyes.

"Well, no..."

"Eren-" she began, anger stemming in her voice already. I felt the mattress shift as she stood up.

"Mikasa, Armin's a big boy. We kissed, he knew he had a boyfriend. He chose to cancel your plans." I said. I rolled over to my side, away from my pissed-off sister.

"He cancelled our plans because you're a home-wrecker!" she argued, her voice rising. This time I did roll my eyes, not that she could see my attitude when I was turned away from her. I let out a deep breath of frustration. Mikasa was just understandably pissed off that I was the reason one our best friends wasn't talking to her, I tried to rationalize. Armin meant a lot to her; he was as much of a brother to her as I was. At last I sat up in my bed, pushing the too-hot comforter off my body. I moved my legs off the bed, going to stand up. "Where are you going?" Mikasa demanded, placing her hands on her hips firmly.

I shook my head at her before standing up in front of her, my short-sleeved t-shirt and boxer combo leaving my arms exposed. I didn't miss the glance she paid my inner wrists. "I told him about why I broke up with him, okay? I took off my shirt, and he still decided to almost-fuck me in the backseat of my car. Is that what you wanted to hear? That he didn't pay that a second thought, that he didn't care about how broken I am, that he still  _wanted_ me? That he still wanted me and not you-"

My speech was cut short by a sharp  _slap!_ as my head was belted to the side. Instinctively I grabbed my cheek, having heard the hit before having felt the sting. It felt like Grisha, it felt like all the times when I was a little kid and I was yelled at and I was so so scared, like when Mom died and Dad yelled and said it was all my fault, all Eren's fault all Eren's fault all Eren's fault- My stomach dropped a mile a minute as I realized what I'd been saying to her, and when I realized what Mikasa had done. I'd probably deserved to be slapped across the face. But it was different coming from my sister, coming from the only other person who had seen just how many times I'd been smacked in my lifetime. She knew what I'd been through, and still...

I kept staring off to the side, off outside of my window. The tree branches were still green, but they'd be turning a golden honey shade soon. I thought of apple cider and leaves that crunched and homemade fudge. 

"Eren, I'm sorry-" Mikasa spurted, her voice cracking in the silence. From the corner of my eye I could see her dart an arm out to grab my wrist as I felt the contact be made. My eye twitched involuntarily at the feeling of someone touching me over my scars. Understanding her mistake almost immediately, she dropped my wrist, moving to apologize again. 

I missed my still-warm bed and the feeling of fabric covering my arms, holding me together in all the places I was cracked. Tiredly I faced around to my bed, avoiding Mikasa entirely as I climbed back beneath the cocoon of my sheets and blankets. I left her standing there. 

When I next opened my eyes my blinds were drawn again and she was gone. 

I fell asleep for a couple of hours before waking up in a cold sweat. By now my body was definitely requiring some Advil, water, and sustenance of any kind. My stomach let out a deep grumble amid my thoughts. I moved to my closet in search of something to wear, in case Grisha was home. Sometimes his hospital allowed him days off, usually weekend evenings. I pulled out a heavily worn flannel and a pair of jeans stained with oil and acrylic paint. After I was dressed, I went into my bathroom to brush my teeth and comb my hair. I figured I'd bother with showering just before bed, so I would be tired again. 

I had barely opened the door to the hall by a crack when I heard muffled voices. Grisha's voice was always loud and clear, so I was immediately aware it wasn't him. I put my ear against the door frame and quieted my breathing to better hear. 

"Fucking talk to him. He's been pent up in his room all day and I'm worried about him Armin, I'm worried." Mikasa's voice rang out. My heart skipped a beat at the mention of his name. 

"Why can't you? You're his sister." Armin retorted. His voice carried his reservations clearly. I should've know he wouldn't want to see me, that he'd just want to ignore me and everything else in the name of all high and holy. 

"Because I wasn't the one kissing him last night." she snapped. "Do what you want." Footsteps followed her words, and I guessed she walked away from him. I heard the sound of something thumping against the wall of the living room as though someone had hit it. 

Slowly, I creaked the door of my bedroom open. The light of the hallway cast over me and I squinted against it for the second time of the day. I began walking out into the living room, and wasn't at all surprised when I noticed Armin standing with his head against the wall. 

"Oh, hey, Armin. When did you get here?" I asked, nodding to him as he straightened his posture. He searched my face for knowledge of his and Mikasa's conversation, but I always had a good poker face. He had dark circles under his eyes, and I was willing to bet even I, in my post-comatose phase, was in better shape than he. Apparently I had kept him up at night, too. 

"Not too long ago, I was just playing video games with Mikasa." he said, gesturing to the couch and TV that were clearly void of any game controllers or otherwise recent activity. I simply quirked an eyebrow at him before walking passed him, aiming for the kitchen. Hot coffee and leftovers sounded fantastic. "Eren, wait-" Armin started. I waved his words off, continuing my path down the hall. 

"You're welcome to join me for dinner." I said, effectively cutting him off. God was I tired of this game of hop-scotch. I knew myself and my own issues. One of my personal problems was that I absolutely fucking hated indecisiveness, which was part of the reason I sometimes hated my best friend as much as I loved him. I wanted hot or cold, I wanted yes or no. It was why I gave up on academics. I was good at art, I was bad at math. It was easy for me to see what I was cut out for and what I wasn't. I didn't live in a world of black-and-white; I just wanted black-and-white decisions to be made. 

"Have you not eaten today?" Armin inquired. He was now all too eager to trail behind me. I stopped when I reached the refrigerator, refusing to move even when he bumped into me. "I'm serious, Mikasa said that she was worried about you."

I opened the door to survey my options. There weren't very many as it had been a while since Mikasa and I or Grisha had been grocery shopping, but there was a box of microwavable thai noodles with shrimp left in the freezer. I picked it out and set it on the counter. "I absolutely can't imagine why she would be worried. And unfortunately, no, I've not had the chance to indulge myself yet in such amazing five-course dishes as-" I paused to read the thai noodle box. "Chan's Thai Medley Featuring Shrimp. If you could excuse me, I would love the opportunity now." I sassed. I opened the lid of the box before popping the thing in the microwave, setting it for three minutes and thirty seconds. I leaned back against the counter when I finished, assessing the look in Armin's eye carefully. 

"Okay," he said. 

"Okay?" I asked. Last night he'd been so pissed, so upset, but standing here he seemed so sane. I wondered which Armin I was seeing now. The angry one or the happy one or the mopey one or..?

"I'm sorry about last night. I overreacted. I could've handled it better." he told me, staring into my eyes as he spoke. I nodded as he spoke and shrugged when he finished. "You're not gonna say anything?" he asked. He sounded frustrated at my lack of empathy. Well fuck, what was I supposed to do? Thank him on my hands and knees for his blessed apology and kiss his feet while I was at it? 

I stared longingly at the microwave, at the noodles inside. All I wanted was my fucking noodles. 

Armin took a step towards me, and I went to step back only to realize my back was already up against the counter. Within the next few seconds Armin was within a foot of me, reaching up to grab the collar of my shirt. "Why won't you just say something?" he asked, peeling my shirt back. I stared at him questioningly as he leaned in to inspect my neck. Oh, I remembered. He was probably looking at his handiwork from the night before. I felt the shock of his breath by my ear as he leaned up, and goosebumps quickly appeared. "Eren," he said again. 

The microwave timer beeping saved me just in time. I bolted away from him, anxious to stop the incessant sound. He nearly glared at me as I removed the noodles from the microwave and gathered chopsticks from the kitchen drawer. 

"Do you want some or something?" I asked, twirling up my first bit of food onto the chopsticks. 

"I want you to talk to me. I want you to be here with me, right now." he admitted. I could tell he meant what he said, but I couldn't help but take at least a small amount of offense at his choice of wording. 

"You want me to be with you?" I asked harshly before taking a bite of food. It was a bit too hot, but that didn't stop me from taking another. 

Armin's face burned red. "W-well, you know that's not what I meant."

"Then I don't think we should be having this conversation," I replied. I sat myself down at a bar stool facing the kitchen island so that I could set my food down as I ate. 

"And where was this resolve yesterday?" he asked angrily, his face scrunching up. 

"So you want to keep this going? Just like that, keep it up?" I asked. "It's one thing to fuck up once. But to repeat the same mistake again? That's fucking stupidity, Armin." I warned. 

I poked the bottom of the box, noticing for the first time that I'd already eaten through the entire thing. I had no idea how Armin could store away in his head the idea that his boyfriend, Horse Face or no, deserved to be cheated on, deserved to be led on behind their back. Jean was probably one of my least favorite people in the world--alongside Sarah Huckabee Sanders and Pablo Escabar--but I still knew he deserved more respect than he was getting.

"Mikasa called me here because she thought you weren't getting out of bed. I see you have, so I'll be leaving-" Armin began to say.

"You mean you guys weren't playing video games?" I asked sarcastically. "I really thought you guys were hanging out, based on the pure lack of any games or Mikasa." I continued, voice dripping rich with sarcasm.

"Eren, don't mess with me." Armin said, a sharp cold tone visible in his voice. By now I was beyond Rational Eren Mode and crossing into Very Pissed Off Eren Mode. I get he came here to help me; how sweet, really, but all he was doing know was trying to take me on as sloppy seconds. And now he was pouting because I wouldn't agree to it.

"Jesus fuck." I spat finally. "I don't want to argue with you any more." I stopped to look up at Armin who was standing only a couple feet away with his arms crossed in front of him. "Have you thought of what it feels like to be me? How it would feel if I got a boyfriend and then asked you to be my side whore? I mean, c'mon. I know I dumped you. I know I could've been a better person than that but I wasn't and I owned up to it. I showed you the worst part of me and all I got in return was an 'Eren'," I whined, mocking Armin's voice. "And a 'did you ever love me?'" I stopped, huffing out for breath. I slowed my voice down and quieted out the anger. "I love you Armin, I really do, but I don't think it's enough to do this. Not enough to break Jean's heart even if he is a fucking asshole."

"Eren-" he began, restlessly shifting his arms until they remained at his side.

"You have somebody who loves you. Who really loves you. That's worth more than you know." I concluded. I got up to throw the empty food carton away, walking past my best friend on the way to the garbage can. I could tell he was upset by my reaction. 

"Should I get going?" he asked, his voice cracking. I didn't bother replying at first, walking into the hallway off the kitchen. I was sure Mikasa had had her ear pressed against the wall already to hear our conversation, so it wasn't like I'd have to explain anything to her later. She had respect for everything except privacy.

"I'm planning on watching some mcfucking Netflix, but if you'd like to join me to binge watch season three of Orange Is the New Black, be my guest." I invited, sweeping my arms out to illustrate just how wonderful my concept was. 

I pretended that sitting two full feet away from Armin on the couch was comfortable. Pretended that I didn't notice his quick glances at me; the way his cheeks blushed furiously in frustration, visible even in the dimly lit room. And all was well in the kingdom again. 

-    -    -

Back alone in my room after Armin left I came across the post-it note Mr. Ackerman had given me. I thought back on the past few days, on how Armin hadn't seemed to fully register what I'd done to myself and what Mikasa slapping me meant. Grisha hadn't touched me for at least six months (besides a couple of friendly pats on the back in public), but that fact didn't magically erase the constant state of fear I lived in. It was my base reaction to flinch. I couldn't help how my brain had wired itself in defense, no matter how bad I wanted to. 

One of the memories that meant the most to me regarding my father took place around Christmastime. I was only eight or nine at the time, I'm not sure of my exact age. But I was so excited to go shopping with Grisha alone to look for gifts for Mikasa and Mom. It was rare I got time with Grisha to myself, rare that we ever bonded. That day he took me to do the stereotypical things like sitting on Santa's lap and walking through all the Christmas displays set up at the local mall. The mall around holiday time wasn't all that impressive, but I was so excited. I bounced around the place, following Grisha wherever he went. 

I oo'd and ah'd at all the shiny toys and things I wanted in between looking for everyone else. I was easily distracted and everything just looked so cool. I was a kid, a selfish kid that couldn't understand the cost of things in a hard economy, sure. But I didn't mean to be demanding or selfish. Kids don't know any better. 

Grisha had huffed in annoyance and tugged me away from every awesome object I found. I was okay with it, though, because I was with my dad and we were doing something together. 

The part I most remember is sitting in the passenger seat of the family car with Grisha in the mall parking lot afterwards. I'd asked blindly and dumbly about some toy or contraption, and then I felt the sting on my face and saw his hand raised up in the air from where he'd hit me. His face was flaming with anger. 

I'd scooted back from him, against the car door. He shouted something about me being selfish, about me costing him money, about me not caring about anyone else around Christmas for God's sake, about me needing to  _shut the fuck up._

I was a kid. 

I was just a fucking child. 

I stilled my heart, grounding myself back in my room, sitting in my desk chair, far away from eight years old and far away from Grisha even if he was only across the house. I picked up my phone and typed in Mr. Ackerman's number. For a while I stared at it, thumbs hovering over the screen. I wanted to text him. God, was I desperate in that moment for anything or anyone capable of making me feel even a fraction less alone. I laughed out loud at the thought of mister ex-gangster-come-teacher trying to comfort me. In a strange way, Mr. Ackerman was just as well suited for comforting other people as he was holding an intellectual discussion. It was something I appreciated about him. But it was eleven p.m. on a Saturday night and I didn't want to bother anyone. 

Even if that anyone was the only person in the world who had ever seemed to understand me. 


	7. Levi

I woke up to my body being sticky with sweat. I'd had a nightmare, I was sure, I just wasn't able to grasp what exactly it had been of. I probably didn't want to know. Turning over in my bed, I read the alarm clock on my bedside table. I groaned at the numbers _7:15_ ; moved to get up. Mikasa and I usually tried to leave by 7:30, and _7:15_ meant I was already running very late.

We used to leave earlier, back when we still picked up Armin from his grandfather's house for school. He was always so grateful to us. "Thank you guys so much, I'm so glad I don't have to ride the bus." he'd say. I had asked Armin once why the bus bothered him so much. Of course I already knew the answer. But I wanted to know if he trusted me enough to tell me, to let me in on the problems he carried so close to his heart. "It smells bad." He'd said. His eyes were clouded over with an emotion I understood all too well. Armin was bullied on that bus. Every day he'd caught fists and elbows and words that hit too close to home. And the only thing he could say--the only words he found--were "It smells bad." That was the moment I realized that Armin would probably never trust anyone with words. He felt words were false security. After all, hadn't his parents said they were coming home? Armin loved through angry words he didn't mean and expressions filled to the brim with emotion. I learned to ignore his mouth and trust his eyes. 

Those eyes had been in my nightmare the night before. 

Jolting me from my reverie was Mikasa's voice, echoing from down the hall. She must've opened my bedroom door at some point, or else I had forgotten to last night. I squinted at the door: it was strange.

"Eren! Are you dressed yet?!" 

"Fuck." I groaned, still rolling myself out of bed. I landed on the floor with a _thump!_

"Oh my God, are you alright?" Mikasa asked, her voice moving down the hall with her footsteps. She appeared in the doorway still wearing her pajamas. They were the bunny pajamas Armin gave her for her birthday four or five years ago, the set with the too-baggy shorts and too-small top. She still obstinately wore it--but now, the shorts looked bigger than usual and the top wasn't all that tight. I continued looking at my sister. Really looking, seeing the bags under her eyes and the way her knees seemed to wobble. 

"Have you lost weight?" I blurted out. My voice carried audible notes of concern.

Mikasa's face scrunched up at my question. "I don't know. I haven't checked in a while," she replied, but something about her tone made me question the authenticity of what she was saying. (I thought it was a load of shit.)

"Oh, sorry." I apologized, standing up from my position on the floor. "You just look skinny, I got worried," I admitted. 

Mikasa shrugged her shoulders back. "Don't be. Worry about getting to school on time instead. Please," she added. 

I nodded back at her, swiftly moving to my closet to change into fresh clothes for the day, even though everything felt so slow and sluggish. Mikasa had gone to brush her teeth and post her OOTD up on her blog. Sometimes I wondered what her followers really knew of her life, and what they thought of it. Did they know Grisha was a giant dick? Did they know Mom had died? Or that Mikasa had a probably manic-depressive recluse for a brother? I smiled at that thought, because at least it was entertaining. I imagined Mikasa putting a "Meet My Brother!" video on her YouTube channel. "What are your hobbies?" she would ask, reading off a card. Or maybe, "Do you have a girlfriend?" 

After I'd finished brushing my teeth and taming my hair in the bathroom, Mikasa literally tugged me out of the house and out to the car. "Can you take me today?" she asked. 

"Can't, today I need to be at the gallery downtown after school." I explained, glancing back towards her car. "Otherwise you gotta spend the entire evening sitting in an armchair outside one office or another." Mikasa sighed in disappointment. 

"I'll see you later then."

-   -   -

I was riding out a severe caffeine withdrawal by the time I entered Mr. Ackerman's classroom. I wanted coffee, and I wanted it right fucking now. 

I was surprised to find the aforementioned man in a downright foul mood. As soon as I stepped foot in the classroom I could feel the dark energy radiating off of him and into the very air I breathed--okay, I'm definitely exaggerating, but he was absolutely miserable. 

I shook my head in an attempt to clear it. Mr. Ackerman merely nodded at me as I took my seat. I was surprised when Sasha entered the room and sat by me, again, willingly. I wasn't used to my classmates paying me any attention. We were quite a large school, after all, and everyone tended to stay close to the groups of people they best knew. 

"How are you today, Eren?!" she asked, grinning from cheek to cheek. I chuckled at Sasha's enthusiasm and worked to match it. 

"I'm great!" I replied. I wasn't at all prepared for the girl to lean herself over her desk and stare deeply into my eyes. 

"Why so good?" she asked. She was still upbeat, but the question was obviously a serious one. 

"Well," I whispered, shuffling in my seat so that I was closer yet to her inquiring form. "I had some paintings accepted into the gallery downtown!" I said excitedly. 

"That's fantastic!" she squealed. She paused to reach up and tighten her ponytail. "When will they be showing? And which gallery?"

I thought of being vague in my answers, but the impulse quickly passed. Sasha was an honest person. A little much sometimes, surely, but she cared. And I would much prefer having her as my come-along to Armin. "It's Gallery 211, which is why I'm so excited." I admitted. Gallery 211 was one of the better galleries in the area. It was known for providing a leg-up into the more prestigious art community in the city. In one word: opportunity. "And they're discussing showing them next weekend, but one of the curators there would prefer a showing this Friday night as well. Things have yet to be finalized."

"Wow! Do you think-" Sasha began, her brown eyes the size of saucers. 

"Brats! Time to shut the hell up." Mr. Ackerman interrupted, his voice gaining command of the classroom instantly. 

I opened my class notebook to a fresh page and ripped off a piece, scribbling out the words I wanted to say to Sasha. 

//You're invited if you want, here's my number:// I folded the scrap carefully before passing it to Sasha as soon as Mr. Ackerman turned his back to us. Sasha discretely read the note before giving me a thumbs-up and mouthing, "thanks!", something I was realizing was a trait of hers. I wasn't very good at lip-reading, but she was good at mouthing words. 

"Anything you want to share with the class, Sasha and Eren?" Mr. Ackerman asked abruptly, pivoting to face us. I giggled in spite of myself and shook my head in reply. 

"Yeah, Eren got accepted into Gallery 211 guys!" Sasha exclaimed. A fierce blush instantly illuminated my cheeks as I grasped my hands over my face. 

"Shut up!" I shh'd. 

The words, "really?" and "wow!" echoed around the room even as I covered my eyes. 

"Congratulations, Eren. Good work." Mr. Ackerman said, his serious expression lingering over me for a moment.

"Thanks," I said quietly. 

"Do you think you could bring in pictures?" Marco asked from across the room. "If that's acceptable by you, Mr. Ackerman." Marco added, smiling respectfully. My eyes undoubtedly widened at the question. Did my classmates want to see my work, or were they just being polite?

Mr. Ackerman brushed a hand through his undercut, staring off in thought. "I don't see why it wouldn't be. If Eren agrees to bring in photos of his work, I might even agree to grant extra credit to those who take up an additional writing assignment pertaining to the arts." Mr. Ackerman glanced at his watch--gold again--before glancing back at me. A shiver raced up my spine at the sight of his disheveled hair and dark eyes. He raised his eyebrows as though they would speak for him, as though one simple action could take the place of the way he carefully crafted every phrase that left his lips. I'd never been careful; never been able to make my words seem right if they weren't in writing.

"Yes, sir." I agreed, and a couple of my classmates cheered. I made eye contact with the girl still mourning the loss of her mother; she sent me a lop-sided smile of approval. I made a mental note to learn her name, and maybe even reach out beyond that. 

"Back to class." Mr. Ackerman directed, clapping his hands together. "I want to hear your poems, even if  _you_ think they're shitty. I'm aware of how utterly uninterested I appear at the moment. Have faith that I am fully engaged in your continuing education. There's nowhere I'd rather be." he went off, a heady mix of sarcasm and sincerity. At the end of his (comedic? Whatever it was, it was too try-hard, even for him) speech, he sat down and leaned back in his rolly chair. "Please, someone, begin this shit-show."

Of course it was Connie that eagerly whipped out a crumpled paper and began reading from it. Even nice-guy Marco visibly rolled his eyes as if begging the heavens to send down some kind of relief, some kind of urgent release from Connie's overly-dictated latest catastrophe. But something about Connie's sharpened features, the set of his jaw made me stop. I had the distinct feeling that there was something there in that moment. That there was something to Connie Springer beyond try-hard, beyond annoying, beyond strange. 

"Six years old, and the whole world's mine. / Eight years old, mom's got a needle, but the whole world's fine. / Ten years old, dad's got no money, but the whole world's alive. / Twelve years old, in a one-bedroom apartment, I wonder how my siblings are doing, how the world can still thrive. / Fourteen years old, I wonder where anybody is, but dad keeps saying the world isn't ending. / Sixteen years old, mom's just out of rehab, she says my heart is mending. / Eighteen years old, out on my own, this world was never mine."

Connie sucked in a deep breath after he finished. The classroom was so silent, I could hear my heart beating in my ears. Sasha was the first to make a noise as she moved her hands in a slow applause. Soon, the rest of the class followed in a solemn applause for the brevity of Connie. It was something like a universal shame. Here we had been, summing him down to something so low, to a simple archetype so that we wouldn't have to deal with the fact that the annoying character was actually a person. 

Mr. Ackerman sat up from his relaxed position to gaze at Connie. "That was excellent, Connie. Thank you for sharing your story with the class." I wondered--in that split second--if Mr. Ackerman would invite Connie to stay with him after class as he had me, and I bristled slightly at the idea. I wanted to be the only one who saw him when he wasn't cussing everyone out; I wanted to be the only one who noticed why he wore the watch color he did and how wearing the wrong pair of Italian loafers always put him in a bad mood (like today). But Mr. Ackerman didn't say anything else at that moment and I nearly sighed with relief. 

Marco followed with a poem about his dog, a small terrier named Tabitha, and the poem was just as cute as his last. He looked visibly guilty after having rolled his eyes at Connie, and I would bet he was only reading next to relax everyone else in the class. 

Sasha read a poem about the time she got french fries at McDonald's and they upgraded her from a medium to a large by accident. Her mom had been pissed, the poem said, but her precious potatoes had still been as delicious as ever. Mr. Ackerman stopped the class after Sasha read aloud, making sure to smile at her appreciatively in response. 

"I don't want to give out any homework. I don't feel like it. Just put your heads down for the last two minutes of class and pretend I taught you something invaluable, something indubitably life-altering. Whatever." Sasha giggled at Mr. Ackerman's words and ducked her head down when he swiveled around to glare at her. I was too preoccupied with keeping my head down on my desk to notice Sasha slipping a note beside my folded arms. 

"Psh," she whispered. I peeked my head up in confusion, nodding when I saw the slip of paper beside me. I blinked at the paper blankly after opening it. A beat of silence passed before I nodded. Because maybe Sasha had a good idea; my social anxiety needed to be overcome every great while and again; maybe there were people beyond bitter Amin and matronly Mikasa in my life. 

So, "Yeah," I replied, nodding at Sasha. I met her brown eyes and gave her a half-smile. "Sounds fantastic."

The bell rang almost immediately following my words, and I watched Sasha happily pile up her belongings before practically skipping out of the room muttering something about "fair food". I squinted at her words, but I'd already learned to pay some things little heed. I shook my head as I put together my own belongings, pausing to look over longingly at Mr. Ackerman's coffee pot. My classmates had already evacuated the room in order to get to their next class or lunch block on time. 

"Is there something you need, brat?" Mr. Ackerman asked, still pouting in the rolly chair by his desk. He was acting like a petulant child, pretending to be seated at the throne of a kingdom. I nearly laughed out loud at the thought. 

"Why do you wear those shoes?" I asked innocently, gesturing with an arm to where his feet were leaning against the floor. 

"Excuse me?" he asked, seeming as though he were caught off guard. His brow wrinkled in confusion. 

"No offense. But every time you wear that pair of shoes you're in a pissy mood, and you walk like you've got a limp. I'm pretty sure you wear those specific shoes whenever you're in a bad mood. But why don't you just... not wear those shoes?" I trailed off, moving my eyes to the ground. I didn't want my words to be too abrasive. I just genuinely wished to know why the fuck somebody would put themselves through an entire day of pain. I wondered if he wore the shoes as self-harm, or if he wore them as an excuse to have a bad day. Or maybe he just forgot how fucking much they hurt. 

I glanced up and caught Mr. Ackerman studying my face carefully. "Do you want a cup of coffee before class?" he asked suddenly. My face must've shown confusion at the change of conversation, but Mr. Ackerman continued to ignore me as he turned to the back of his room, where he kept his coffee pot. 

"I shouldn't," I confessed. "I shouldn't be shaky, I've got to meet with some people this afternoon," I explained. I watched him nod as he patiently began pouring water into the machine. 

"The gallery, yes?" 

"Yes, sir." I replied. 

"I'm not that fucking old," Mr. Ackerman muttered, attentive to the coffee machine as it started to stutter out a stream of black liquid. "Call me Mr. Ackerman, or Levi even. I'm damn tired of 'sir'". 

"Levi?" I asked. I swear I saw Mr. Ackerman roll his eyes just the slightest, or give a lift of the shoulders as if in annoyance. 

"Mr. Ackerman is fine." he corrected, placing a styrofoam cup onto the corner of his desk. "You should be going if you don't to be late to your next class, brat." I tried not to think about the draw in, and then the clear draw for space. I was confused. First, he wanted me to call him by his first name; then, he was avoiding eye contact, putting the cup on the desk instead of in my hands, and basically telling me to get the fuck out of his classroom. 

Instead of leaving, I leaned up the slightest bit to look into Mr. Ackerman's--Levi's--ash gray eyes, at him and how I thought he was something and then I didn't and how now I was back to thinking he was something, that he as a person contained something, again. It was strange to see that same uncertainty reflected in his eyes. 

"I should be going if I don't want to be late,  _Levi_."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys, sorry it's taken so freaking long to update. This chapter has a lot of different things going on... but at least the Levi x Eren has finally taken off ig ?? I really hope you guys enjoy what's been written so far, I'm trying to steer it to a more hopeful overtone :') ie: less depressing. 
> 
> and also, lots of love to you guys! thank you for commenting and leaving kudos <3


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